Darker Shades of BLU
by D.Muffin
Summary: A murderous demolitions expert; a technological virtuoso bent on revenge; a shell-shocked war mongrel with onset paranoid schizophrenia... And that was before BLU recruited them. Classified backgrounds hardly remain buried forever.
1. There's nothing Medic can't fix

Glowing crimson pipe bombs tumbled through the only doorway of the sniper's nest, coming to a rest in the furthest corner only to explode violently, blackening the surrounding floor and walls.

_Click-chink, click-chink_. The cornered demolitions expert loaded his last two sticky bombs. He brought his left hand to his forehead, chest and then right and left shoulders, and finally to his lips. He could hear the _shunk, shunk_ of his counterpart around the corner inserting more pill-shaped bombs into his launcher. He grabbed the brown jug from his belt, uncorked it and put it to his mouth. The liquid fire sank into his stomach; his heart became steady and his vision blurred. He could easily drop out of the nest and risk a mere sprained ankle than put his life in danger, but where's the fun in that? And his RED counterpart had to be gotten rid of.

_Thunk-Thunk-Thunk-Thunk_

Four grenades hit the top of the doorframe and bounced onto the floor, rolling dangerously close to the shut in demoman's feet. Four consecutive explosions and his ears were filled with the deafening silence familiar to his profession.

Teeth clenched and fingers tight around his launcher, he ran out of the only doorway to face a man in a RED uniform, reaching into his belt for ammunition. 'Poor bastard,' the BLU thought as his azure spiked bombs curved through the air, one landing at his enemy's feet and the other a body's length behind him. The enemy RED's eyes widened as he reloaded his weapon and strafed from in-between the bombs.

_Beep-beep! _The BLU's spiked bombs detonated, the initial blast missing the intended target, but sending shrapnel into his enemy's legs. The BLU demoman unlatched his grenade launcher from his belt and held it at his side; now the RED was trapped, his back to a one-way gate that he was on the wrong side of.

Instead of firing, the RED dropped his launcher and eyed his counterpart looming ever closer.

"Come n' get me," he grinned menacingly with his hands outstretched to the sides. He was opening himself for death, and the BLU had no intention of convincing him to put up a fight.

_Thunk – _A single blue glowing bomb launched from the predator's gun, tumbling gracefully through the air toward its cornered RED target. What happened next the BLU wished he could have reacted to quickly enough, despite seeing the entire event playing out in slow motion, as if under water.

The RED demolitions expert raised his hand in the path of the bomb, catching the grenade while turning clockwise causing it no impact to explode upon. The RED guided the glowing explosive through a U-turn sending it in a sling shot into the legs of its owner.

_______

A large man in oil splattered overalls and a yellow hard-hat settled to rest alone on the concrete platform in the otherwise desolate rock-barren wasteland.

The sound of a latch releasing and the creaking of a door caused him to twist around, where he found the BLU Medic emerging from the trap door leading to the underground base.

"S'alright, Doc?" the Engineer asked quietly, not making eye contact.

"He iz just vine, he iz lucky to be alive." The Medic said as he brushed his white coat. "Vill you be joining us soon?"

The Engineer did not reply immediately. His gaze remained locked on a spot in the distance. Medic stood in companionable silence beside his comrade.

"S'pose so." Engineer said in a sigh a few moments later as he rose and proceeded to the trap door, lifting the rebar handle and gesturing for Medic to descent first.

Engineer followed Medic dutifully, not paying attention to where they were heading, simply following the billowing white coat ahead of him as his eyes kept toward the floor. Within minutes they were on the opposite side of the BLU underground base, standing in front of the door to the infirmary. The Medic held the door latch and turned to the Engineer, who took a deep breath and then nodded slowly.

As soon as the Infirmary door cracked open the noise of a raucous party flooded the outside hallway. Scout, Heavy, Sniper and Soldier were crowded around the Demoman who was sitting up on his gurney with his right leg in a cast, elevated by a medical crane. Each BLU held a glass containing amber liquid, the Demoman refilling them from his own large brown jug and taking a drawn out swig himself.

"Ey boyo! Join the party!" Demoman yelled to the newcomers, his speech severely slurred.

Medic shook his head as if trying to wake up from a dream, "Vhat do you zhink you are doingk?!"

Heavy stumbled away from the crowd, carrying two sloshing drinks that spilt on his uniform with every uneven step. With a wide grin he handed the Engineer a half-filled glass while tipping his own into his mouth.

"Ve have a mission in ze early morning und you schweinehunds are thinning your blood and poisoning vhat brains you have left!" the irate doctor snatched the empty glass from Heavy and smashed it on the floor, his eyes glinting maliciously. The party silenced; all eyes were on Medic. Heavy swayed and blinked slowly, grasping thin air where his glass once was and looking confused.

"We're just givin' him a good time, he almost snuffed it a day ago, c'mon Doc, lighten up," Scout was the first to speak from the quieted crowd.

"Get out. Get. Out." Medic ran his fingers over the trigger of his Blusauger still latched onto his belt as he eyed Scout not unlike an enemy.

A moment later, with much protest from the drunken Demoman, the remainder of the BLU team quietly shuffled out of the door leaving their glasses scattered over the infirmary equipment. Realizing what must come next, Demoman tipped the jug into his mouth and gulped down as much precious alcohol he could swallow before Medic came to take it away. To his surprise, it was the Engineer who made the first move. Walking over with wrench in hand, Engineer swung at the upturned jug, shattering it and showering amber liquid over the Demoman.

"The hell you think you're doin'! You risk your damn life to save an expendable sentry and get nearly blown to gibs, and make us haul what's left o' your sorry be-hind back to base! Medic spent hours stitchin' you back to recognizable pieces and as soon as he leaves to tell me you ain't dead or paralyzed like we thought, you're partying it up, like it's some great good time!"

Demoman stared with his one good eye, trying to figure out his comrade.

"I been in worse mate, this ain't nothin' compared to gettin' a face full'a shrapnel," Demoman whispered dangerously, pointing angrily to his liquor soaked eye patch.

Engineer grabbed a fist full of the front of Demoman's blue infirmary shirt. "You listen here and you listen well. I don't give a rat's ass about whatever blown up mess you've gotten yourself into in the past. Don't you go riskin' the lives of this team by gettin' yourself fit for a soup can and leavin' us to die. I ain't done it, Scout ain't done it and you best be damn sure that Medic here ain't done it neither. Stay outta them cornered up situations and don't go bein' brass tryin' to take on all them REDs yourself. And if ya do land yourself in the infirmary again, _don't _treat it like its some kinda holiday, 'cause it ain't for us."

Without giving him time to retort, Engineer pushed Demoman into the hospital bed and marched out of the room without looking back. Uneasy silence filled the infirmary. Medic closed the door behind Engineer and quietly collected the drink glasses, then swept up the shattered jug around the Demoman's gurney, not making eye contact with his patient. He fully agreed with Engineer, it was careless of their only demolitions expert to put such little importance on his life. He could have been responsible for more than just his own death by being so stupid. He wondered why Scout, Heavy, Sniper and Soldier hadn't come to the same realization.

Caught in his own thoughts while he picked out pieces of glass from the hospital bed, he felt his patient quickly shudder and then again lay still. Thinking nothing of it, Medic continued diligently gathering the glass, then removing the soaked wrappings from the uncasted portion of the Demoman's upper leg. It took a few moments for Medic to quiet his internal voice shouting insults in full agreement with Engineer, to realize his patient had covered his face with his hands, and, what was this? What was he doing?

"Are you _crying?" _Medic said incredulously, the meticulously collected glass shards in his gloved hands nearly slipping away.

"I haven't got a damn thing ta live for."

Medic stared at his comrade, unable to process what was happening and how he should react. He was a medical doctor, not a shrink. He knew how to mend bodies and even better how to destroy them, but when it came to comforting anything other than his own malicious desires, he was as good of a resource as Heavy was with ballet dancing.

Medic shook himself and realized he'd let most of the glass he'd picked up dropped carelessly onto the floor. He discarded what he held into a basket labeled "BIOHAZARD" in bold print, and retrieved a dustpan and broom to get the rest. He made a mental note to forget that he'd seen the Demoman break down, he was strong and would get over it. Yes, he'd be back on the battlefield in one more day, he'd rather him fight without anything to lose than come to a stupid realization that he had something to live for, and not put his full effort into the capture. But wait, wasn't carelessness on his part what got him here in the first place?

Thoroughly confused and distracted, Medic set down the dustpan and broom and nudged Demoman, who had stopped tearing up and was now staring into the dimmed surgeon's lamp above him with a blank expression.

"Vhat are you getting at?" Medic asked roughly. Demoman did not reply.

"Vhy are you being so strange? Iz it zhat you are in pain?" Again, not a sound.

He had absolutely no idea what to do. He'd only ever seen one of his team mates cry. Spy had threatened to turn on him if he'd told anyone, rationalizing that it was a heartbreaking film that had touched him deeply and berated him for criticizing his passion. All he'd learned that it was a movie called _Mata Hari, _a film he'd never seen himself. He asked Engineer about it he explained it involved exotic dancers and a steamy plot involving a spy. Engineer was very clear that he had _not _cried, and went on to say that he had never cried a day in his life and Spy was more of a yellow-bellied gutless coward than he'd previously imagined.

This was far more akward; Demoman wasn't crying because of a film.

What was important to Demoman? He really had no idea. He knew he liked explosives, haggis and hard liquor… Could he be so upset about losing his moonshine? Was that even reasonable to think he would be _crying _over spilt liquor?

Medic considered this, and hoped Engineer knew something about making alcohol, because he knew nothing. Medic found it unnerving to be uneducated about anything, whether it be his practice or his team.

The Doctor glanced at the clock, it was nearly ten and he hadn't yet managed to clean his weapons in preparation for tomorrow's battle.

"I cannot give you any morphine vhile you are still drunk. Vill you be able to sleep through ze pain?"

Demoman replied sullenly without making eye contact, "Aye."

Medic nodded. "I vill lock ze door. Use ze alarm if you need me."

The patient acknowledged this with a languid wave, saying nothing. Medic turned off all of the lights except for his own desk lamp, giving the room a muted yellow glow. He locked the door behind him and began his way to the common area, hoping he might find Engineer.


	2. Spy: A fountain of gossip

The party had migrated from the Infirmary to the common room as Medic had expected it might. What he didn't expect, was Soldier, Heavy and Sniper to be passed out before midnight.

Heavy sat slumbering in the single largest armchair, his half eaten sandwhich forgotten on his lap. Soldier had taken a seat on the couch with his back straight and hands on a hollowed rocket (he hoped it was hollow), his bucket helmet covering his eyes. Other than the snoring and occasional grunted half-sentences he appeared to be awake.

Sniper reclined himself in a chair directly in front of the black-and-white snowy television, his hat covered his face. Medic looked around again, but didn't notice an unconscious Scout. He turned the dial on the television and it clicked off suddenly, the room became strangely quiet without the ambiance of the television static.

From the common area, Medic checked the Engineer's regular haunts which included the Engineer's armory (he had the most tools and weapons out of everyone, and was provided a small warehouse full of self-constructing sentry, teleporter and dispenser boxes mass-produced by BLU company based off his own design) his personal quarters and the exit to the BLU underground base where he'd found him earlier that day, all to no avail.

The hands on the clock rounded to eleven. The Doctor returned to the common area where he expected to find his three drunken team mates where he'd left them, however as he approached the room he heard the unmistakable sounds of a fierce argument.

As he stood in front of the common door wondering if it was worth his time to enter and take the chance of being pulled into the fight, the choice was made for him.

"Don't talk to me 'bout screwin' my team!" the heavy steel door slammed open into the wall as the Scout, red-faced and bellowing came stomping into the hallway. "That's your job you fuckin' turncoat!" he yelled as he walked backwards with both hands held up giving the middle-finger salute directed to Spy, who stood calmly holding a cigarette to his mouth.

When Scout disappeared around the corner, Spy invited Medic into the room in a tone suggesting Sunday Brunch and not blood curdling rage, like Scout. Medic entered cautiously, closing the door behind him.

"E' is upset because I do not agree wiz him. E' is being thoughtless and self centered to imagine zat it iz appropriate to revel wiz a man who iz on ze margin of mental collapse. Eet gives him hollow joy to celebrate his life, nothing more." Spy offered Medic a cigarette from his silver case, who declined.

"On ze margin? He is already there. Ve all are. Zat is vhy ve vere hired; there vas no one else crazy enough to take zis job other than those already here."

Spy walked to the dining table behind the television area where their sleeping team mates rested, and sat down gesturing for Medic to join him. He took a long drag from his cigarette before he said simply, "Some of us are more unstable zan ozers."

What a strange thing to say, thought Medic.

"Vhat gives you ze right to suppose zis?"

"Eet iz not a matter of supposing, my friend. Eet iz a matter of fact. Ze demoman was sent here from an institution, and not ze type you would go to willingly."

Medic raised an eyebrow, "I understand, he was on death row, was he not? And so was Heavy, Scout, and Sniper. Vhat are you getting at?"

"Eet iz true of our colleagues, yourself included zat we are here because we no longer 'ave freedom in normal society. We do, however 'ave one zing in common zat Demoman does not share." Spy tapped his cigarette into an empty glass on the table, peering at the silent doctor across the table.

Spy locked eyes with Medic continued in a low voice, "We did not destroy our families prior to recruitment. We have somezing to look forward to at ze end of zis career, when ze total amnesty we were promised takes effect."

Medic's face widened in shock. "Vhat?!" Spy cringed at the volume of Medic's outburst. Medic leaned over the table and spoke in a harsh whisper. "Vhere are you getting zis information? I vas given full disclosure of background records of all of our team—"

Spy interrupted, "_Medical _backgrounds, not criminal history," he finished importantly.

The Doctor sat up again looking concerned. "Und how are these available to you?"

The Frenchman took another drag of his cigarette and did not reply.

"Vhat are you saying? Zat Demoman might kill us all?" he said in a forced laugh.

"I am merely suggesting zat our explosives expert iz becoming lackadaisical on the field, and it would be prudent to offer him encouragement."

"Encouragement? You vant me to offer him _encouragement? _Vhat shall I do, sit beside him and listen to his problems and nod every once and a vhile? I am field medic, not a counselor or his mother! Tell Ms. Blu he's eccentric and leave me out of zis!" Medic crossed his arms.

"If Ms. Blu discovers 'e iz breaking down _again, _'e will be removed from zis team wizzout notice," said Spy. "She's been getting increasingly, how do you say, impetuous wiz her command. Ze last battle we fought where Demoman fell and our first base on ze line was destroyed, she announced our failure as due to our lack of defense. To be frank, it was Demoman and Engineer oo' are at fault in her eyes. My sources tell me she iz looking for new recuits. _Replacements._"

Questions flooded into the forefront of Medic's mind. He's broken down before? How did Ms. Blu suppose it was Demoman and Engineer who were responsible for the recently lost base? Most of all, Medic wanted to know how Spy found out Ms. Blu is looking to recruit…

However Medic didn't have the chance to utter the beginnings of a question. Soldier had awoken from his alcohol induced coma and began stumbling across the room into the kitchen area, grasping at the furniture for support. He groaned and unlatched his helmet and dropped it loudly onto the table, taking a seat between Medic and Spy. His eyes were mostly shut, he didn't look completely awake.

Spy checked his watch and took a final puff from his cigarette, dropping it into the empty drink glass he'd used for ashes. Standing up and brushing the lapel of his suit, he bowed his head slightly to Medic and Soldier. "Gentlemen," and then left for his personal quarters.

Medic drummed his fingers on the table, his mind racing. If Spy was truthful, and he had no prior experiences with him to suggest he was not, then if he didn't find a way to fix their Demoman's head they might be stuck with a rookie demolitions expert, a frightening prospect. Also, he hated to admit even to himself that the drunk had grown on him.

"Doc," said Soldier in a raspy voice, his eyes still closed, "Does that Medigun work on hangovers?"

_______

Engineer awoke promptly at 4:30am, as he did every morning, dressed and made his way through the maze that was the BLU base to the gymnasium at the opposite end of the facility. Physical exercise was mandatory for all members of the BLU field team, although recently Engineer rarely met anyone other than Heavy and occasionally Scout, who only sprinted along the perimeter of the equipment.

Posters of attractive pin-up girls in military uniforms, swimsuits and small dresses donned the walls, covering the BLU propaganda and gym safety warnings. There was a time that the whole team partook in everything together, from eating to exercise to showering and they were obviously together on the battlefield, but now a days the team was split and separate. What had happened?

After working his arms and brief sprint around the room, Engineer made his way to the showers, where he found Scout unwrapping his hands. Scout acknowledged him with a brief nod and continued gingerly removing the bindings.

Engineer quickly showered and, expecting Scout to have finished and already left, was thoroughly surprised to find that he hadn't moved from the bench in the locker room. He sat with his head hung low, staring at his unwrapped hands.

"Y'ever finish that book you were writin'?" Engineer asked simply as he opened his locker, picking out a crisp pair of overalls and BLU logo shirt.

"Nah," said Scout without looking up. "Couldn't think a how to start."

"Heh well that's somethin', I thought you was near done."

"Near done thinkin' bout it."

Both were silent for the time it took Engineer to change into his uniform. He began lacing up his boots when Scout looked up from his hands at his team mate.

"How long do you think until we're outta here?"

"Well," Engineer began, "The contract I signed stated, 'End of tenure will be decided by upper management of BLU Corp after a minimum of ten years employment. Advanced discharge will be considered in the event of corporeal enfeeblement or if the cost of psychological care exceeds disbursement estimate decided prior to employee field training.'"

Scout looked at Engineer, confused. "What?"

"It means that the company will consider my release after a decade service, and they might let me out early if I'm no longer physically useful to them, or if it costs too much for them to keep me sane." Engineer grinned. "Ain't it somethin', we can't get out even if we're quadriplegics. They'd just give us desk jobs," he shook his head and chuckled menacingly.

"Oh," was Scout's only reply.

"How long's it been, four years this May?" Engineer asked thoughtfully. Scout seemed really down. It wasn't normal for him to give short answers, or even to sit quietly in one spot if he wasn't asleep. Despite the mass amounts of killing they did in their jobs, the team was generally high spirited, with Scout flying higher than the rest of them. Engineer considered this to be worrisome, but figured that he probably had his own way of mentally justifying his duties that left his conscious cleaner than the rest of the crew, letting him talk and enjoy his time in the base as if he'd never shed blood in his life. When Scout was genuinely happy it became infectious, at least to Engineer. At times he was reminded of his college days, decades ago, and Scout was a good buddy he simply shared a dorm with. It was much easier to think of life on base as college or even a strange vacation, instead of merely a luxurious holding cell where they bided their time until BLU Corp decided to take over an armory or intelligence base, and commence the strategic slaughter.

"It'll be three. Three years in May." Scout said, subdued as he stood and rummaged through his locker for a fresh roll of wrappings.

"Time sure does go by fast," Engineer scratched his head. Had it really only been three years since Scout joined them?

"Goin' to the Infirmary, catch ya later," Scout headed out of the locker room, leaving Engineer behind.

______

The following battle was a complete success, even without the added support of their demoman. The day ended with a bounty of new supplies following the capture of a RED armory. Despite their victorious mission, Medic could not help but worry that Ms. Blu was continuously unhappy with their work. They had captured a new armory without the help of Demoman, and that could say nothing good for what he had been contributing to the team.

Still temporarily resigned to the Infirmary, Demoman had begun walking with the aid of a crutch a mere three days after his mishap. Medic instructed him to take it slowly, fully aware that as soon as the door closed behind him, Demoman would be pushing himself to his limits and self administering morphine from the medicine closet.

Medic lounged alone on one of the many battered couches in the living area, sorting through a cardboard box of generic, unlabeled manila folders containing the records of the previous team members that BLU Corp had employed.

He grinned at the records of the field Medics before him, and laughed upon reading their various reasons for discharge or death. "Sustained massive blunt trauma to ze head vhile attempting field amputation, HAH!" he read aloud to no one.

He was so involved in reading through the BLU team history, that he didn't notice Spy had waltzed in and taken a seat in the armchair beside him.

"Enjoying yourself?" he asked slyly.

"Hmm?" Medic tried not to look surprised. "Indeed, zhese are very interesting. Did you know zat in nineteen-zhirty-four zere was a tenth team member?" he lifted a file from a dirty yellow folder, handing Spy the picture within. "Zays here it vas a voman, specializing in defensive combat, vhatever zat means," he stuffed the file away. "Could you imagine a voman on ze team? Apparently, she served fifteen years und BLU Corp gave her a promotion. Heh."

"I was aware." Spy set down the grayscale photograph showing a young woman in extensive headgear holding a large rectangular riot shield and medieval looking spiked baton.

"I 'ave come to ask if you 'ave made progress wiz Demoman."

"No, I do not know vhat you are expecting of me, und honestly I am sure he had good reason to do vhatever he did und does not need me to pry into his personal life."

Spy leaned in close, "Would you like to know what he did?"

Medic looked away thoughtfully. He did want to know what could drive a man to 'destroy his family' as Spy had said, but at the same time, he hoped that knowing wouldn't obligate him to begin a career as a therapist for their short-tempered, drunken and murderous demolitions expert.

"Yes." said Medic.

"Meet me in my quarters in half an hour."


	3. Demoman's life before BLU

Medic knocked on the door waited patiently in the blue patterned hallway in front of the Spy's dorm. A moment later, the Frenchmen answered and led the Medic to two chairs in front of a projector screen.

Without having to inquire, the Doctor learned that the Spy had finessed Ms. Blu into giving him a copy of each field members' entrance films so he may learn to better disguise himself as his team mates.

"Vhat a stupid reason. Clearly she gave zem to you for other reasons zat you are not ready to discuss."

Spy did not respond to his accusation. He calmly lit a cigarette and continued, "Ze film I am going to show you is Demoman's interview wiz a BLU Corp representative. Eet would be unwise to tell anyone about zis."

Medic nodded, wondering if Spy had his interview film as well, and figured he probably did.

Spy turned off the lights and switched on the projector. Numbers counted down on the screen in black-and-white, and a very generic looking empty white room with white table and chairs appeared on the screen.

The BLU Corp interviewer sat with his back to the camera, dressed in a black suit and was shuffling papers. What looked like the only door to the room opened, and two large white men escorted a handcuffed prisoner, a black man wearing a full body uniform with a long string of numbers on the right breast. They sat him down roughly at the table opposite the interviewer.

The man looked like a young version of the Demoman he knew, and Medic realized this film was probably a decade old at the least. The younger Demoman looked into the camera behind the interviewer with his right eye, his empty left eye socket eerily exposed.

"State your full name," the interviewer said in an American accent. The prisoners focus remained on the camera.

Medic saw Demoman speak, but didn't hear it. He looked to Spy who didn't seem to have noticed.

"What is your sentence?"

The prisoner scowled at the interviewer and did not answer.

"What is your sentence?" the man repeated in a stronger tone.

"Death," he said grimly. He had a thick Scottish accent which Medic thought seemed much more prominent in his younger years compared to how he spoke now.

"How long have you served?"

Demoman shifted impatiently in his chair, looking behind him at the guards who had brought him in. He didn't seem to know what this was about, appearing eager to get back to his cell or wherever he'd come from. He turned back to the interviewer and said in a growl, "Five years."

The BLU Corp employee opened a folder in front of him and wrote a note.

"Would you explain to me how you got here?"

"Whay don'tche shove thait fancy pen up your arse and leaive me th' hell'a'lone."

The interviewer ignored his answer and put down his papers. He looked up at the man across the table and asked very seriously, "What did you do to get here?"

"Kilt'a few slobs," he raged. "Are we done?" Demoman looked to his captors guarding the door, who ignored him.

"Would you care to tell me what happened?"

On the battlefield, Medic noticed on more than one occasion that when Demoman became increasingly enraged, his hollowed eye socket would begin to twitch and his lips would curl up in a snarl. His furious energy escaped from the film, Medic could feel his anger.

Demoman made his reply between clenched teeth, "I blew 'em up. I kilt'um."

"Please tell me what happened," the interviewer asked, and with mocked politeness he added, "in full detail."

Medic's heart raced. He'd never seen Demoman so irate, so riled that he began to shake. He smashed his chained wrists onto the table and stood up; the prison guards closed in on him but did not seize him.

The interviewer remained calm, despite the raging prisoner just two feet away. Demoman took a breath and closed his eyes. He unclenched his fists and sat back down. When he opened his eyes, he looked like he was trying to see into his interrogator's soul.

"It all started when I got a job with a demolition comp'ny. I loved it. Met a girl there who worked in tha' office. Loved 'er too. Married 'er."

Medic couldn't imagine Demoman holding anything dear aside from his grenade launcher and his alcohol. An idea formed suddenly in his mind, he knew it was something he couldn't forget, and he'd have to ask Spy his opinion on it later.

"I came home early one afta'noon to somethin' suspicious. A black Mercedes in tha' drive," he paused, his jaw clenched. "I don' drive no fancy car. She didn' have no rich friends. Heh. Heheh," he chuckled for a moment and then settled himself, becoming serious once again.

"So's I park my work van 'round tha' block n' walk real quiet inta' the house, wonderin' what's goin' on. I hear somethin' soundin' like mah wife," he grimaced angrily with his brow furrowed, "enjoooyin' herself."

The young man's face looked angry, and then worrisome. "You know what happens next. I ain't gotta go inta' detail." He said, sitting back into his chair.

"No sir, I don't. Continue," goaded the interviewer.

Demoman glared at him, he leaned forward and whispered, "I found 'em," his voice turned harsher, "I found 'em, in OUR bed!" he slammed his fist onto the table and continued fervently, "I loved 'er, an' all she did in ru'turn was shag some rich degenerate bastard b'hind my back!" he bellowed.

"I took it th' righ' way though, I did. I let 'em be, left my house wit'out 'em bein' none th' wiser tha' I'd caught 'em in th' act. I figured tha'it was a onetime thing that wasn' worth losin' my head over. Tha' was th' first time," Demoman held up one finger.

"I came home a few hours later n' she greeted me nicer than ever," he said quietly, looking downward and away from the camera.

"Nex' day," he lifted his head and continued in a subdued voice, "I come home same time, an' found th' same fancy black car. I snuck in n' found 'em just th' same as th' day b'fore. It wen' on for a week, n' I found 'em just the same ev'ry day. I couldn't bring myself to b'lieve it. I didn' think tha' my wife," he covered his eye with his palm and resumed, "tha' my wife didn' love me enough ta' be faithful."

Without warning, Demoman slammed his fist on the table, looking just as fierce as Medic had ever seen him, "SO! I gave 'em one last day, with an unhappy bloody end. I loaded my van full'a explosives from work, n' I buried 'em in ev'ry part o' th' house! In th' foundation an' along ev'ry support beam; fifty pounds of explosives on ev'ry floor!" he spat menacingly, "even loaded up tha' bastards shiny new _Mercedes _as he shagged my _wife!"_

"I went back to th' van an' said my goodbyes. I told it was wonderful while it lasted, but it jus' wasn't gonna work out," said Demoman, nodding solemly.

"And KA-BLOOIE!" he roared, leaping up in fury.

Medic's eyes were glued to the screen, even after Spy had turned off the projector and switched the lights back on. He didn't know what to say, he was at a complete loss of words.

"BLU Corporation felt he was filled wiz _passion;_ and because e' 'ad nozzing left to live for, made him all ze better of a candidate."


	4. Scout's discovery

"Sniper! Snipes! Where are ya?" Scout shouted at the top of his lungs, ghosts of his words repeating through the echoing hallway. Hearing no reply, Scout continued through the base checking each room on the way.

He burst through the door of the Infirmary, "Sniper?"

"Nein! Remove yourself!" Medic shouted as he quickly threw himself on his desk, hiding whatever it was he'd been looking at.

Naturally, Scout was curious about whatever the Medic was trying to conceal.

"Oh, yeah? Well, you seen him lately?" he asked, strolling inside attempting to look inconspicuous.

"Nein! Leave! Vhat are you doingk here? Get avay!" said Medic, haphazardly collected the folders from his desk and flailing his arm at Scout as he approached.

"I ain't gonna tell nobody. What's the secret Doc?" Scout stood on his tip toes trying to get a look at the files Medic held tightly against his chest.

"Aren't you supposed to be running around or vatching TV or something? You are missing qvuality television," said the Doctor as he walked to his cabinet and stuffed the documents inside.

The desk remained littered with files labeled "TOP SECRET," Scout made an effort to saunter over, all the while trying to think of a way to distract Medic.

"I think Heavy's watching it, I don't like Russian ballet." Scout inched his way to the desk and sat on it.

"Get avay from my zhings, leave!" The Doctor smacked Scout in the face, leaving a bright red welt on his cheek. Medic pointed irritably toward the door. "Go!"

The younger man glared at his attacker and said provokingly, "You hit like a girl."

No sooner had Scout finished taunting him did Medic launch himself forward, his hands reaching for the Scout's throat. Scout rolled himself backward over the desk, grabbing the closest folder he could reach in mid-tumble and sprinted for the door. "Thanks, Doc!"

Where could he go where Medic wouldn't find him? Scout ran from the Infirmary as fast as he could, the Medic's footsteps following behind him. "Give zhat back you schweinehund! I vill find you! I vill KILL you!"

Scout laughed and continued to run through the base, darting through rooms and ignoring his team mate's protests as he dashed past them. He elbowed Soldier as he sped through the kitchen, causing him to fumble his plate of eggs and bacon sending it crashing to the floor. Scout had already run through the double swinging doors on the opposite end of the room when Soldier realized his breakfast was ruined, and began trudging after him yelling obscenities.

As soon as he saw the blue arrow pointing toward the gymnasium, Scout knew exactly where Medic would not follow him; the team showers. It wasn't that Medic was nervous or shy to be around his team in the nude, it was the fact that everyone shared the same showers that deterred the Doctor from ever stepping foot into the room unless absolutely necessary. He preferred to shower in the sterile Infirmary washroom which he was careful to bleach after each use. Medic thought it clean, everyone else thought he was crazy.

Scout ducked into the shower room and locked the door behind him, then took a seat at the bench in between the double row of lockers. He placed the folder on his lap and rubbed his hands together, his mouth salivating in anticipation. Heart racing, Scout gingerly opened the folder to reveal the thin stack of papers within.

Attached by a silver paperclip to the very front page was a black-and-white photograph of a very attractive woman dressed in a camouflage BDU, her short hair resting neatly on her shoulders. Her right hand was pressed to her forehead in a salute, her mouth stretched into a wide grin, her light eyes looking past the photograph right into Scout. It took him nearly half a minute to realize he hadn't taken a breath. She was so beautiful, who was she? Not wanting to let go of the picture he began hastily flipping through the lose paper searching for anything that would tell him who she was. He skipped through recommendation pages, medical summaries, civilian history… He finally found what he was looking for on the very last page.

Her name, place of birth and parent's names were obscured by thick black lines. As he read down through the last paragraph, he dropped the photo as if it had suddenly become molten hot.

"Recommended Team Designation: Pyrotechnics"

________

Medic banged his fist on Spy's dorm. "Are you there? Answer me!" he continued to rap on the door.

An irritated Spy opened the door suddenly, an unlit cigarette in his mouth. "I need you to vind him! He must be dealt vith!" Medic strode into the room without invitation. Spy closed the door.

"He has gone _too _far zhis time! Ich zerstöre ihn selbst!" Medic choked the nonexistent figure in front of him.

"What 'as 'e done now?" Spy inquired calmly. He didn't need to ask who Medic would be talking about. There was only one resident whom Medic was consistently frustrated with.

"He has stolen a profile from the Infirmary! Zhis morning! He came in und stole a team record, but I do not know who it vhas for, I have not yet been able to sort through zhem to find out," Medic ran his fingers through his hair.

"And you want me to retrieve eet?" Spy tapped his cigarette into one of the many ash trays in his dorm.

"It is not his information! It is not for him to see."

"Yet eet iz alright for you and I? I fail to zee a problem."

"Vell it is not so much zhat I am afraid of him finding mine or your profile, I am afraid he will have grabbed the profile of the only member of the team whom we are trying to protect from him."

Spy nodded wisely. He blew cigarette smoke into the ceiling fan, looking into the spinning blades deep in thought. After a moment, he replied, "Perhaps eet iz for ze best zat 'e knows. We've been hiding eet from 'im for what, trois years?"

"Ze orders were from Ms. Blu, who specifically said zhat it vould be best if ze youngest and most hormone driven would not know one of his comrades vas a voman. Zhink of vhat he might do!"

"I am zinking zat we do not give 'im enough credit. Why not let 'im find out? Eef 'e grabbed anozzer file we 'ave nozzing to worry about and you are working yourself up over nozzing. I zink zat eet is about time, 'e iz not a child." Spy puffed his cigarette. "Why don't you sort through ze files you 'ave and find out eef zere iz anyzing to worry about, yes?"

"Spy, vhat vere you doingk at twenty-three?" Medic asked, trying to make a point.

"Moi? Espionage," he said simply.

Medic groaned impatiently, "Vould you have trusted yourself around a voman of your age?"

Spy frowned. He took a final puff from his cigarette and smothered it in yet another ash tray, immediately lighting another. He looked menacingly toward Medic, "Iz she beautiful?"

"Gah! You are missing the point!" the Doctor swatted the cigarette from the Spy's mouth, "If he does find out about Pyro, zhen he might go after her. Growing feelings und becoming soft!"

Spy chuckled, "I don't zink we would 'aft to worry about Scout becoming _soft,"_ he stepped on the smoldering cigarette Medic hit to the floor, and opened his tin to retrieve another.

Medic flailed his arms, yelling, "Fine! Let him find out! Let him risk our team because you zhink it'll be just fine zhat he knows the company of a voman is not out of his reach!"

"Doctor?" Spy put his hand on his frustrated team mate's shoulder. He looked into his eyes and said seriously, "I 'ave looked at 'er file, I 'ave seen ze photograph from years ago. What does she look like now?"

Medic's face remained twisted in anger, "Wouldn't you like to know."

"You are ze only one 'oo 'as seen her wizzout a mask, no? Iz she still beautiful?"

It was difficult for the Doctor not to smack Spy upside his head. What an unprofessional slob he was for even considering a relationship during a war, and with one of their own team mates! Images of Spy impaled, or burning alive or being dismembered with his wounds cauterized swept through the forefront of Medic's mind. He pushed these away and focused on the matter at hand. With narrowed eyes, he removed Spy's arm from his shoulder and whispered, "I see I vill have to get the file back myself," then left leaving Spy to his dishonorable thoughts.


	5. The smell of something beautiful

Demoman meandered around the BLU base, carrying with him his favorite shot glass. He didn't get a chance to drink from it, but it eased him to have it in his hand. Sober for a week, Demoman was finding it increasingly difficult to function as he did when he'd been on the wagon. It was harder to sleep, eat, and even making conversation was incredibly tedious. He simply didn't know how to enjoy himself without being drunk.

Every week Ms. Blu would send them list of new inventory they could expect to find in the warehouse, but among the list of food and other essentials, Demoman did not find any liquor. They did receive ninety-nine bottles of Blu Streak beer every week, but Demoman couldn't get it out of his head that he was drinking alcohol and not cold, carbonated piss.

Nothing at all seemed to be going smoothly for Demo since his accident. Not only was he completely sober, but Scout, who usually drank and talked with him was acting subdued and contained himself to his personal quarters most of the day, Spy wasn't talking to him at all (but that wasn't different, he reminded himself), Engie scurried out of the room if Demoman entered, and Medic hadn't made eye contact with him since he released him from the Infirmary six days ago.

The only person who seemed completely normal was Pyro. Pyro was a good listener and hardly said much, which fit Demoman just fine seeing how he was usually drunk and ranting. Demo turned in the hallway leading to the showers and headed for the common area, hoping to find his buddy the Pyro.

Demoman found Pyro in the common area drinking a beer while watching Sniper and Engineer play checkers on the coffee table. Pyro was dressed in his normal attire, an oversized heavy black sweatsuit with matching ski mask with the eye and mouth openings covered with black screen. Demoman thought it strange that anyone would completely cover their face, but figured Pyro did so for good reason. He was probably horribly disfigured with burns or something, but Demo couldn't imagine keeping his own face hidden even he was terribly scared. Whatever the case, Pyro was Demoman's good friend, and if he wanted to hide his face, to each his own.

Taking a seat in the armchair beside Pyro, Demo prepared to watch the game between Engineer and Sniper. Engineer looked up briefly but did not leave the game, and remained seated.

Demoman wasn't able to follow the game, as his attention was immediately diverted to one of the strangest odors he'd ever smelled in the BLU base; a delicate, sweet scent he hadn't smelled in more than a decade. He looked around at Pyro, Sniper and Engineer, "You boys smell that?"

Sniper replied boisterously, "Yeah mate, It's the stench of failure," he picked up his red checker pawn and placed it on a red space closest to Engineer. "King me."

"Not that," said Demo, sniffing the air curiously, "smells to me like a _woman."_

Sniper turned and looked at Demoman, flabbergasted; Pyro fumbled his beer and dropped it, and Engineer looked up from the game with his eyebrow raised and asked, taken aback, "_What?"_

"Smells like a woman," Demoman repeated.

"I got that part," said Engineer, "What I don't get is that Medic said you were set to leave the Infirm even though you're still wacked out."

Demoman sneered.

"Oi, there aren't any women here, 'aven't been for al'east thirty years. An' Ms. Blu is in the remote office miles away, never steps foot 'ere," Sniper said, roused. Pyro nodded in agreement.

"Don't getch'yerself worked up, Snipes. Can't be any ladies here, I'da smelled 'em first," said Engineer, raising his eyebrows knowingly toward Sniper, who laughed.

"I'm tellin' ya," Demoman stood up and continued taking in lungfulls of air, exhaling through his mouth. "I smell her, she's sweet."

Engineer waved his hand, dismissing Demoman's claim and looking back to his game with Sniper. Pyro drank what was left of his spilt beer through the ski mask netting and got up to leave, discarding the bottle in the trash on his way out. Demoman remained fixed on the smell. It was unmistakably a female fragrance. He walked his way around the perimeter of the room, sniffing with each step, and with each step the aroma faded. When he sat back down in the arm chair near Engineer and Sniper, the perfume had vanished completely. Demoman sighed deeply. The most exciting thing to happen to him in a week lasted only a few minutes, yet he couldn't get it out of his mind for the rest of the night.

__

"Ceasefire has lasted this long before, why is strange now?" Heavy asked his team mates (minus Pyro who ate alone in his quarters) seated around the large circular breakfast table.

"It's strange 'cause there ain't no reason for it. We're ready, Ms. Blu sent us a report tellin' us the RED base looks active, but they're not movin'," Engineer explained.

"I don't like it. I don't like it one bit!" Soldier stated loudly, waving his fork around, "They're up to no good! There aren't any rules in war, other than kill or be killed! And Ms. Blu, having us sit here like sleeping ducks is RECKLESS!" He slammed his fist on the table, everyone was accustom to Soldier's passionate mid-breakfast rants and continued to eat normally. "If I were in command I'd of had us up and out before dawn, crawling through the mud and filth to those RED maggots and kill them in their sleep!"

"That's great, but there ain't no mud in the desert, pops," Scout pointed out in mid yawn.

"Don't encourage him," said Sniper dully, not looking up from his newspaper.

The whole morning, Medic was staring daggers at Scout, who pretended not to notice. Medic found himself growing hateful toward Scout, his dislike increasing every second he brooded over his stealing the file from Medic's office. Scout was his team mate and that wouldn't change, but nowhere in the contract he signed did it state that he must like his comrades. He thought of how wonderful it would be to tie Scout's hands behind his back and dangle him by his feet to the ceiling, and do all sorts of unpleasant things after that.

"What ya grinnin' about, Doc?" Engineer asked. Medic shook himself, "Nothing."

A half hour later, mostly everyone had left the table, leaving Engineer, Demoman and Medic alone in the kitchen area. As Demoman stood up to leave, Engineer got up and stopped him, "Hey, I got somethin' ya might be interested in."

Demoman shrugged and Engineer lead him to the Engineer's Armory. Demo wasn't sure why Engie all of the sudden felt the need to be friendly, but followed anyway, not knowing what to expect.

As soon as they stepped through the thick steel doorframe to the Armory, Demoman's eyes became wide with excitement. In front of him was a complex contraption of twisted copper tubing connected to large vats that he knew could only be for one thing. "Oh, Engie! I love ya more than mah parents!" Demoman grasped his new best friend and squeezed. "You made me white lightning! I'm sorry for thinkin' ya hated me guts and never wanted to see me again. I ain't never gonna forget this!"

Demoman released Engineer and scurried over to his new creation. Engineer straightened himself and muttered, "Heh. You're welcome."

"This is th' distiller right? An' here's the condenser!" Demoman said, pointing to the winding coil which was dripping into a large, near full jug. "How'd ya know how to do all this?" he asked in wonder.

"I can tell ya that eleven hard science PhDs didn't do much for me," he scratched his head. "First batch tasted like poison. Thought I was drinkin' acid. Ended up havin' to tear it apart an' start all over, made some revisions. First time makin' moonshine, heh."

Demoman grinned, he felt entirely too giddy for his age. "You ain't nothin' but a saint, Engie."

"It was Medic's idea, mostly. Said you were bent outta shape since I busted your whisky jug. That, n' Ms. Blu isn't sending down any more of it, not sure why."

"That son of a Nazi, I'm gonna have ta' thank 'im!" Demoman laughed. Engineer looked at him, aghast.

"What'd I say?" asked Demo.

"Might wanna leave that part about him being the son of a Nazi out of it," Engineer said in a whisper, even though they were alone in the Armory.

"Oh. Ya mean, it's true?!" Demoman said in the loudest whisper imaginable.

"Shhh!" Engineer's face twisted in concern, "Don't say nothin' about it, it's a rough subject. N' I only know 'cause Medic got plastered the last New Year and went on and on about his father this, and his father that." Engineer covered his face with his hand. "Damnit, I shouldn'a said anything."

The day was just getting more and more exciting, thought Demo. First he learns that BLU gets an extended cease-fire, then Engineer presents him with a boundless source of moonshine, and now he is gratified to learn that the team Medic _really _is the son of a Nazi, which he figured all along but never had proof or a strong enough desire to ask someone.

"Now don't you go thinkin' that you can ask me all sorts of questions about Medic. I'm not about to spill all his family history, he trusted me not to let anyone in on it. I trust _you _to keep your mouth shut as well, ya hear?" Engineer said in a stern voice.

"On me mother's grave," Demoman put his hand over his heart.

"Good. Now I know it's only noon, but why don't we—"

"You read me mind!" Demoman slapped Engineer hard on the back and ran to the end of the condenser coil, grabbing the gigantic jug filled with liquid joy.


	6. Who is Pyro?

Pyro lounged alone in the darkness of her personal quarters. She'd hung black tapestry to block out the artificial lights, leaving the room with just enough light so that everything was visible only in shades of grey. Assured that the door was secured and that she was not needed that day, Pyro decided the best way to enjoy the cease-fire would be to lock herself in her room and be free from her stuffy mask and heavy clothes, and listen to the radio.

Of course, radios didn't work very well a quarter mile underground, so she settled for recorded radio programs decades old that she'd found in the BLU library. The music was mostly jazz but sometimes broadcasters would interrupt with news reports on the war in Europe, reporting how the troops were doing and shouting their opinions adjacent to American-freedom propaganda. Pyro thoroughly enjoyed listening about a war that she was not a part of, and that had ended before she was a teenager.

Milling about in her room, Pyro would occasionally glance into the large mirror above her dresser and watch herself walk by. At the right angle in near darkness, even the most mutilated human faces appeared soft and welcoming.

Medic had tried in vain to convince her that she wasn't a monster, that she was in fact very pretty and her scars made her appear formidable and honorable. Medic was the first person to meet her, as he had to perform her physical before she was introduced to the team. He went on to encourage her to introduce herself as who she was, and not hide herself behind a mask as she'd proposed. She never intended to make the team think she was a man, it just happened that way. Pyro supposed the mask was a big part; they'd all simply assumed their new team mate was a quiet young chap hired to replace their retired Pyrotech, and didn't think it at all strange that the new guy never said a word if he wasn't in his asbestos battle suit. The suit and respirator mask muffled her feminine voice quite well, and she could shout intelligible sentences without anyone understanding more than a few syllables or being none the wiser that she was in fact a woman.

Pyro didn't care they thought she was a man. She'd probably get a lot of unwanted attention from the guys; that is until they saw her face.

Pyro expelled the thoughts of her physical appearance from her mind and distracted herself by dancing to a sweeping waltz on the radio, grasping the hand of her invisible partner and taking the lead.

Three rampant knocks on her door sent her stumbling out of rhythm and into her bedpost. She grumbled in pain, and heard a muffled voice from the door.

"Hey, Pyro it's me, Scout."

_Oh, great,_ she thought. Pyro grunted into the door and retrieved her mask first, then quickly jumped into her overly large cloth jump suit. She switched off the recordings, and unlocked the door. Light flooded into the dark room from the hall along with Scout.

"Hey," he said in a soft tone as she closed the door and locked it behind him. Pyro nodded in return, and they stood in silence for a moment.

"I can't see you," said Scout, reaching his hands around in front of him. Pyro reached up and pulled down one of the black tapestries allowing dim yellow light to illuminate from the ceiling.

"Hey," he said with an awkward smile on his face. Despite having a mask on and fully aware that Scout couldn't see her facial expressions, Pyro raised an eyebrow, and nodded a second later.

"I uh, came to say hello," said Scout, looking around the room nervously. "You usually aren't around and all. I thought you might want company."

Scout was acting really strange. His normally bold demeanor was now cautious and calm, something Pyro hadn't observed in the three years she'd been on the BLU team. Did someone die?

Pyro nodded and took a seat in her lounge chair. Scout continued to stand until Pyro gestured to the bed, which he then scurried over to and sat on.

"So, I've never been in here before. You spend a lot of time here?"

Of course she spent a lot of time her in quarters. She only ate, slept and entertained herself here. Did someone drug Scout? Has he been concussed one time too many? Pyro wished she could ask those questions, but instead she simply replied with a nod. Nodding was how Pyro communicated (other than grunts) when outside of her asbestos suit.

"Oh. Yeah. Me too. Well I mean in my room. Sometimes I go outside and bat a few," he hit an invisible baseball with an imaginary bat.

What was he getting at?

"So I guess you're wondering why I'm here and all," said Scout, fiddling with his thumbs. Pyro shrugged and nodded.

Scout looked directly at Pyro and said in a tone closer to is normal, cocky self, "You gotta promise you won't tell Medic or anyone about this. It's totally secret. Got it?"

Pyro agreed with yet another nod and awaited an answer, hoping it was a good one.

"I was in the Infirm looking for Sniper, and I caught Medic actin' real strange. He was reading _stuff _at his desk—"

After hearing that, Pyro burst out laughing, or rather did the equivalent of laughing while hiding her voice, which was closer to muffled gasps and snorting. That sure was suspicious of Medic, to be reading _stuff_ at his desk.

Scout continued, undeterred, "He was reading a profile on _you!"_ It wasn't exactly true; he had a mess of other files on his desk on top of the Pyro's, but decided he'd leave that part out.

Pyro silenced immediately.

"I know it was yours because I went over to see what he was doing, and when he went to attack me for _no _reason at all, I flipped backwards over his desk and snatched the file and ran!" the young man said with gusto.

_Uh oh,_ was the only thing Pyro could think of. Scout had her file. Scout had her file and she _knew _he looked through it. _Oh my god, he knows!_ Pyros heart fluttered and her hands began to shake. She leapt up from her chair and grabbed Scout's arm and pulled him toward the door. When she put her hand on the lock to open the door, Scout stopped her. They both stood stock still.

"Can I see you?" he asked pleadingly.

She had to shut him up. She couldn't be sure he was the only one to know other than Medic, and that they were still the only two on the team who knew she really was a woman. Maybe if she still acted like a guy, she could convince Scout he was mistaken… She'd have to get Medic in on it, and have him explain to Scout that she was indeed a woman, and it was a joke… Yes, a joke. A terrible one.

_Get a hold of yourself. Think straight. I'm a guy who has just been mistaken for a chick. What would a guy, I mean I, do?_

Pyro turned and wound up her arm, and punched Scout square in the nose. Scout stumbled backwards and covered his nose with his hands. Pyro started mumbling, growling and trying to act as offended as possible without actually _saying _anything. She threw up her hands in argument, once or twice pretended like she might slug him again, unlocked and swung open the door and tossed Scout into the hall.

"Mhm mhm mmk mout!"

_That worked, right?_

Pyro contained herself to her room for the remainder of the evening, wearing down a large circle in the floor from hours' worth of decided that she'd skip out to the Infirmary at midnight to find Medic, and if he wasn't there she'd check his personal quarters. He was the only one to know for sure who she was, seeing how he was the team doctor. She would tell him what Scout did and how she'd reacted, and when he was done with his temper tantrum, she'd convince him to play along with her at breakfast the next morning.

_____

That morning…

Pyro awoke after just two hours of sleep and prepared herself mentally for the day ahead. She bound her chest with bandaging to flatten her breasts as usual, and then dug through her pile of dirty clothes and donned the smelliest jumpsuit she could find. The other night when Demoman said he'd smelled a woman had startled her, but she didn't take it seriously until her confrontation with Scout. She figured it was because Demoman hadn't been around her for a few days and her smell became foreign to him might have been the reason he noticed her. She decided she'd skip a day in between showers to avoid anything like it in the future.

She shook on the way to the kitchen, fearful that her plan might backfire. It was a strange feeling, to be scared. When they were out fighting she felt confident and steady, knowing that her team was right behind her. Now she felt like an intruder. She was the only woman on a base full of men who weren't ever supposed to find out who she was. Pyro was far more terrified of facing her team and keeping up the lie than running out into hostile territory wielding a flamethrower.

When she arrived at the kitchen, Medic was seated alone at the dining table, holding a steaming mug of black coffee. She was thankful that he'd approved of her plan. Medic was a good friend and could keep a secret, but also a terrible liar when confronted directly. Under pressure, he gave short answers and his temper grew quickly.

Medic acknowledged Pyro with a nod, and handed her a news paper. She took a seat opposite Medic and pretended to read it. She couldn't focus on reading more than half a sentence at a time.

Soon they were joined by Engineer, who began assembling his breakfast from the large pans left heating on the stove, filled to the brim with powdered eggs and once-frozen bacon. Moments later Demoman stumbled in and practically collapsed in a chair beside Medic, enveloped by the aroma of hard liquor. He put his head on the table and began to snore. The swinging doors to the kitchen opened again and Heavy walked in jovially, humming a tune and joining Engineer at the stove with a look on his face that said feed me.

Pyro had no intention of eating; she'd probably just throw it back up. Heavy scooped himself a generous portion of eggs and bacon, plus several canned rations and sat to the left of Medic, glowering at Engineer's steaming plate of eggs and bacon.

Pyro drummed her fingers on the table. For her plan to go through smoothly, she needed everyone present.

Soldier marched into the room wearing his battle helmet; a white under shirt and red heart pattered boxers, and sat himself in a chair beside Demoman presumably falling back asleep while sitting upright. Sniper and Spy walked in together talking animatedly and sat together on Pyro's right.

When the youngest team member walked in, Pyro averted her eyes to the news paper in front of her.

"Woah, wha' happened Scout?" asked Sniper loudly as Scout took the only available seat the left of Pyro. Scout's nose was bulbous and purple and didn't look quite straight. He folded his arms and mumbled incoherently.

"You should let me look at it," suggested Medic, "You don't vant to ruin your beautiful face," he mocked.

Everyone laughed.

"Tha' looks like a break. Best get it splinted before it's too late. What'ja do, fall down some stairs?" asked Engineer.

Scout, silent and frowning, pointed at Pyro without looking at her.

"Wha? Pyro did that to you? I'm disappointed, Pyro. I thought you'd have burnt him to a crisp!" Engineer laughed with a few others. Pyro shrugged and chuckled, albeit apprehensively.

"What you do to him?" Heavy inquired in Scout's direction.

"I didn't do _nothin'_ to _her,"_ Scout spat bitterly.

"Ooh you hear that Pyro? He's callin' you a lady!" Engineer pointed out.

_If I were a guy, _Pyro thought, _I think_ _being called a lady would be really offensive._

Pyro lifted her gloved hand and presented her middle finger to Scout. "Mmk mmo!"

Everyone chuckled, except for Demoman whose face was still flat on the table.

"It's true, Pyro's a chick! A girl, a little frilly girl!" Scout shouted to the group angrily.

"I'onnknow, Scout. He puts up a pretty good fight for me to mistake him for a lady," Engineer replied before filling his mouth with bacon. "I mean, your face, for instance…"

"_She _is a woman, and _she _isn't supposta' be fightin'! _She_ should be doin' my fuckin' laundry or making me a goddamn sandwhich all while wearin' a mini skirt!" Scout leapt from his chair and pointed to Pyro, who was becoming more infuriated by every word.

"Da, mini skirt sandvhiches vould be great," Heavy nodded, looking sadly at his half eaten field ration and greasy bacon.

"May I ask why you zink our formidable Pyro iz a lady? 'E 'as proven 'imself countless times, and saved you on more zan one occasion," commented Spy as he lit a second cigarette, his first still between his lips nearly down to the filter. "Why must you insult him?"

"She is not a _he!_ Can'tcha get it through your thick skulls?" Scout's face was turning near the same color as his broken nose. "Have you ever seen Pyro without his mask?"

"Indeed, I have," said Medic.

"And?"

"Und?"

"Pyro's a chick!" said Scout, practically jumping up and down.

"You are obviously mistaken, I have seen Pyro vithout his mask," Medic looked at Pyro, "Mein friend, vould you mind if I let zem know vhy you choose to vear ze mask?"

Pyro nodded. Everyone had their eyes on Medic, awaiting an answer. Even Demoman was looking up as he rested his chin on the table, his eyes droopy.

"Our comrade suffered severe burns to ze left side of ze face und scalp. Zis vas before his time here so there vas of course no Mediguns to heal ze scaring before it became permanent."

"Understandable, mate. I got this bullet wound in my—"

"We don't want to hear about your groin bullet, Sniper!" Soldier shot out.

"Oi, I was just goin' to say that I've got empathy for him. It ain't easy explainin' to a lady why you—"

"I said shut up about your privates! I don't need to relive last New Year!"

Demoman pat Soldier on the back, "S'alright lad, he ain't gonna tell it." Soldier grimaced. Sniper shrugged, unable to understand what last New Year had to do with his story.

"You guys!" Scout hollered angered that everyone had forgotten about him, "Pyro. Is. A. WOMAN!" he repeated, pointing frantically to Pyro.

Pyro tucked her hands into her suit and pressed her hands outward at the chest, imitating breasts. The table immediately erupted in laughter. Pyro put her hands back into the arms and laughed along with the team.

Scout began ranting about how he'd found out Pyro was a woman, but his explanation had gone unheard, as at that moment Pyro spun her finger next to her head and pointed to Scout with her other hand, the international sign language for, "That guy's a wacko."

Everyone was laughing hysterically. Engineer was banging his fist on the table, his face red. Heavy was pointing at Scout and imitating Pyro. The plan had been a complete success! She had successfully extinguished the potentially volatile situation and discredited Scout's claim. Medic had come through as he said he would, she'd have to thank him later.

Pyro's plan had gone without a hitch. That was, until Scout did something she hadn't expected.

In the midst of laughter, Pyro wasn't fast enough to catch Scout's hand as he grabbed the top of her mask, and yanked it off her head.

Pyro's short red hair fell in a mess. Pyro's eyes became narrow, hiding her emerald green irises from the bright room. Medic hadn't lied about the burns on her face; the entire left side was covered in a maze of scars. Her hair line started two inches above her left ear. The scars wrapped down her neck and continued under the suit. The right side of her face was clear, smooth ashen skin.

"HAH!" Scout shrieked victoriously.

Everyone was silent, except for Heavy, who continued to laugh with his eyes closed until Engineer jabbed him in the shoulder. "Wha?—AHH!" Heavy shot up from his chair in surprise when his eyes landed on the undisguised Pyro.

"I told ya! I told ya!" Scout danced, waving around Pyro's mask.

"Mein Gott," Medic covered his eyes.

"You—You—" Demoman stuttered.

"I'll be damned," Engineer gawked.

"Mhm," said Spy with a devious grin.

Pyro stood up and peered at each man in turn, saying nothing. She walked to Scout and grabbed her mask from his hand, "I'll take that." She left the kitchen and proceeded to her personal quarters, the images of her shocked team mates immovable from the forefront of her mind.

__

Pyro lay face flat on her bed. The day could not have gone any worse, and it was only ten in the morning. She wondered what chaos ensued in the kitchen after she walked out. Would they petition Ms. Blu to disband her from the team? Maybe they'd start making her sit out battles or ask her to cook their food. Pyro swore into her mattress. Her heart felt like it was vibrating, it was beating so quickly. She'd fought side by side with her team for a little over three years. It was impossible for her not to trust them completely. Even _love _them. Well, like a family, she reminded herself. She prayed that her team felt the same, even after finding out she'd been lying to them this whole time…

She couldn't bring herself to leave her room for the rest of the day, hopeful that it was just a terrible dream that would end as long as she didn't admit to it.


	7. The Fight

To Soldier, chaos was standing in the center of a mine field with a magnetized rocket launcher, cross fire in all directions while only wearing one boot because he had to use the other to bludgeon the last surviving maggot of a troop he blew up with his last rocket.

All of that he could deal with. He had experience with violent chaos, and was perfectly comfortable with it even if it happened every day of his life.

Not once during his existence had Soldier been caught in a situation that left him in mental disarray. Now, Soldier stared blankly in shock; the team had been gathered around the kitchen table as they did most mornings, except this morning when the laughter broke and he opened his eyes, there was a woman sitting at the table with them. In Pyro's outfit.

A girl.

In Pyro's sweat suit.

With red hair. Pale skin. Battle scars.

Soldier continued to stare, his jaw hung open.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, Spy was positively glowing. He made a mental list of all of the things he needed to do as soon as possible:

_Send his best suit to the dry cleaning service. _

_Find his aftershave._

_Make love to Pyro._

Heavy was hyperventilating while Medic stood by him giving him instructions.

"Take long slow breaths, relax. There is no reason to vork yourself up. That's it, take it easy."

"Girl. Room. Here. She is spy!" Heavy's eyes were wide and his hands were trembling. "Is not good! IS NOT GOOD!"

Medic shook him and said sternly, "It is vine! Get a hold of yourself! Pyro is no spy!"

"But Doctor! She's seen me in showers!" Heavy's face turned white.

Engineer rearranged what was left of his breakfast on his plate. He reminisced on all of the times he'd worked with Pyro and tried to fit the image of the red haired girl in the same place. He just couldn't do it. He knew it was true, but couldn't picture that sweet looking lady holding a flame thrower up to a man's face, even if that man was a RED. For a reason Engineer could not figure out, he suddenly had the urge to build a garden box.

"Well," Sniper announced to the group, "I don't know what you blokes are so worried about. As long as she does 'er job I'll do mine. She's still on our team and it's gonna be the same as always." Sniper sounded more confident than he felt.

Scout continued to swagger about, interviewing everyone in turn repeatedly about whether they ever were suspicious that Pyro was a female. His interrogation only ended when Medic slapped his face and threatened to drug him, "Und it von't be a nice drug!"

All the while his team was milling about in disquiet the gears in Demoman's mind were churning. That beautiful sweet scent must have been Pyro, an unsettling realization. Every sexist joke he told about women when Pyro was around must have gotten to her at some level. And then there was last New Year when he'd gotten smashed and not only told Pyro about every woman he'd slept with in his life, but elaborated on the ones he liked best. _I've lost me best mate._

Demoman left the kitchen in a hurry, running toward his personal quarters to refill his moonshine jug before visiting Pyro, unsure of how apologizing was supposed to work.

_____

Pyro stripped down to her white undershirt and boxers and turned her recordings on as loud as the player would go. She grabbed the book she called her 'Burning Book' from the shelf and lay down with it on her bed, and began tearing out pages one at a time. She flipped open her silver butane lighter and lit the top of the page, and began reading it as quickly as possible before the fire consumed the entire text. It was a novel translated from German with the English version on the even pages, and original German text on the odds.

The ashes of three pages lay on her stomach when she heard loud banging sounds from outside her door, despite her loud music.

Pyro rose and the ashes fell to the floor. She turned down her music and opened her door, where she found Demoman and Engineer brawling in the hallway, rolling in a puddle of strong smelling white alcohol and glass shards. "Oi!" Pyro rushed to the two wrestling men and began pulling them apart. When they both realized that it was Pyro who was in between them, they immediately let go of one another and stood up, their heads hung like guilty children.

"What the hell was that all about?!" yelled Pyro. It was strange to be talking to the men she'd known for years; she'd never done it before.

Neither of them answered, instead they scowled at each other, ready to fight.

"Hey! I asked you why you tearing each other to pieces in the hallway!"

"He done it! He came along n' thought he was gonna lay ya," Demoman swayed drunkenly, holding his bleeding lip with one hand and pointing an accusatory finger on his other hand at Engineer.

"Why I oughtta—" Engineer lunged and wrapped his hands around Demoman's throat. Pyro tried in vain to separate them, and instead retreated to her room and emerged again holding a rusty fire axe.

"You boys let go! Stop fightin'!" Pyro yelled heatedly, brandishing the axe.

Despite her threats, the punches continued to fly and little spats of blood sprayed on the floor. Pyro figured she could call the alarm, but that would probably make it worse.

Pyro held her axe like a golf club with the blunt end forward and swung it into her quarreling team mates. She struck Demoman in the ribs, who promptly released Engineer and clutched his torso in pain. To be fair, Pyro swung into Engineer, striking him hard in the leg.

Both men rolled on the floor, groaning.

"Now, what's going on?"

"I came ta' warn ya 'bout HIM!" groaned Engineer, as he back himself against the wall and pulled up his pant leg to inspect the large welt that was already forming on his shin. It wasn't true at all; Engineer had come to ask what Pyro's favorite flower was.

"Don'tcha start pointin' fingers at me boyo!" said Demoman, gasping for air. "Argh, you did a number on me lass."

"You both deserved it. Stay here, I'm going to call Medic and have him help me bring you to the Infirm."

Engineer and Demoman both protested, but Pyro ignored them. A few moments after making the call, Medic arrived at Pyro's personal quarters with a stretcher.

"What the hell is that for?!" yelled Demoman, pointing to the gurney.

"You, dummkopf."

"Hahaha, serves you right, cripple," teased Engineer, who then attempted to stand and immediately crouched again to the floor, cursing in pain.

Medic and Pyro managed to convince their wounded team mates to sit on the stretcher to be pushed to the Infirmary.

"Vhat did zey do to you?" Medic asked Pyro as they entered the medical room.

"I stopped them from killing each other, is all."

Medic laughed, "I'm not so sure you veren't trying to kill zem yourself!"

"Me? Naw. I love 'em too much to do that," Pyro grinned. Engineer, Demoman and Medic looked at her curiously.

After the words left her mouth, Pyro knew she hadn't chosen the best thing to say. Pyro was finally feeling less anxious and angry about her identity being revealed, but figured the rest of the team was feeling quite the opposite. She put herself in their position; if she were in a team of all women, and then all of a sudden after three years of never seeing the opposite sex she found out one of them was really a man, Pyro imagined she'd feel incredibly…

"Well guys, I'm off! Have a good night." Pyro scampered out of the Infirmary and back to her quarters, not looking back.

Pacing was quickly becoming one of her most frequent activities. She walked from one end of the room to the other, her heart racing. After seeing the looks on the faces of Medic, Demoman and Engineer, Pyro couldn't help feeling awkward. To them, she was different now. She wasn't the same Pyro who joined them in 1965. She had projected a personality to them without showing her face, and Scout had ruined it with one fell swoop. Sure, she didn't have to wear a mask anymore and wear a heavy jump suit, but she couldn't hang around them like one of the guys now, either.

Pyro switched on her music and resigned to her bed, her mind in unrest.

_____

"Und just vhat vere you two doingk in Pyro's room?" inquired Medic after Pyro had left the Infirmary.

"We weren't in her room!" said Engineer impatiently.

"I wasn't doin' nothing, it was HIM!" Demoman pointed angrily at the Southerner who limped off the gurney and into a wheelchair Medic provided him.

"Doc, he's crazy. I was just goin' to see her and let her know I don't feel any different 'bout her whatsoever." Engineer said softly, and then continued in an irritable tone, "And then Demo comes by and—"

"Ya' damn liar! You were tryin' to get in 'er pants! I saw ye, lookin' like you had a great surprise—"

"Now wait just a minute before you start accusin' me of things I hadn't even thought to do! I wasn't the one trying to get her drunk!" Engineer raged.

"Drunk! I was givin' her a gift! That was until you smashed it!"

"You can't be serious! You can't give a lady moonshine as a gift!"

"Well not now, CAUSE YE BUSTED ME BEST BOTTLE!"

"Vill you both shut up!" the Doctor scolded. Medic retrieved a box of bandages from the supply cabinet and wished he could bind their mouths shut. He had a terrible inclination that this would not be the last brawl he would end up repairing wounds from.


	8. Flowers for Pyro

"Mhmm mmhm.." Spy nodded in agreement with his reflection, tugging on the lapels of his best pin-striped suit.

"Zere iz no woman 'oo could resist me." Spy finished his wardrobe with a pair of oil-shined dress shoes and his invisibility watch, tapping the latter as he exited his quarters and vanishing into a puff of smoke.

His target's quarters were only a brief walk down the hall; he arrived in front of her door in less than a moment. The Frenchman couldn't help but to grin as he stood before her doorway, his blood pumping vigorously and his imagination running feral. He didn't even notice his invisibility watch had run out of power and he was no longer a ghost.

Flashes of Pyro in lingerie lingered in his mind. He shook his sweaty palms to dry them. Spy stepped from one foot to the other nervously. Should he knock? What should he say? Should he expect she feels the same about him? She probably did, she hadn't had a good lay in years, either. Or did she? His thoughts were suddenly becoming tangled and confusing. He had to get to her first, and claim her before anyone else did. They'd just have to deal with it.

"Yes, mon amour, you will be mine, I promi—"

"WHAT do you think you're doing?!" Pyro pulled open her door without warning and shouted at Spy.

Spy was not surprised often. When he was, he'd die before admitting it. In the battlefield he was always aware of who was around him, and considered everyone a foe, remaining suspicious of everyone and never letting his guard down. His reaction to anything that surprised him had always been to unsheathe his butterfly knife and drown it in blood, but now he was not on the battlefield, and his heart was pounding for other reasons, and he couldn't help but think of another weapon he'd be more than willing to unsheathe for his Lady Pyro…

"Mon cœur brûle pour vous," Spy knelt down and grabbed Pyro's hand. "Let me teach you the language of love, my Firey Muse."

(30 seconds later)

"Hey, Medic. I've got another one down at my room. Better bring the gurney again. Make sure this one has restraining belts."

____________

Soldier delicately pushed a green soldier figurine across a map of Europe, setting it in the center of Poland. Heavy sat opposite of Soldier with his head resting on his hands, his face drooping in boredom.

"The fact is that in 1945 there were no Ally teleporters that could bring backup to the front lines! I was the only backup, and the fate of our great country depended on _me!" _Soldier slammed his fist into the table, shaking his green army men.

Heavy stifled a yawn and nodded in reply. He'd heard this rant repeated so many times, he knew exactly what Soldier would go on about next. He only had his rocket launcher, the clothes on his back and a bent out folding shovel, and no Soldier on the field was equal to him, his skill and dedicated practice… Heavy folded his arms onto the table and rested his head, wishing Ms. Blu would call them into battle.

Soldier continued his story, indifferent to Heavy's obvious lack of interest.

"What was I to do, high and dry in the center of Nazi territory, a lone beacon of revenge for the lost souls of Auschwitz and the sole surviving son of Liberty in all of Germany? I fought like hell! All I had left was my rocket launcher, the clothes on my back and a bent to hell folding shovel!" again, Soldier slammed the desk, toppling a few green men face down into the USSR. "And I'll tell you this, there were no _women _on the battlefront equal to my honed skills and dedicated—"

"What?" Heavy jerked his head from the table and stared at Soldier.

"Son if I were your drill sergeant I'd give you a night scrubbing toilets with your toothbrush for interrupting me! Now, as I was saying—"

"There were no _women _on the battlefront?" Heavy repeated curiously.

"What? Of course there were no women in the war! What are you talking about, son!"

"You said there were no women, don't you mean soldiers?"

"Of course I meant soldiers! That's why I said there were no _soldiers _on the battlefront equal to my skills! And I meant it! Why, just after I dropped down on the field—"

"No no no. You did say there were no women. I heard you right; you did not say 'soldiers.' I wonder now what is on your mind that makes you say this."

"I'd know if I said anything of the sort because _I _said it! And therefore I did not, because I know I didn't!" Soldier argued angrily, his chest heaving.

Heavy squinted, thinking hard. After a moment arduous mental taxing trying to figure Soldier out, Heavy came to the conclusion that Soldier had women on his mind, most likely just one in particular. He probably knew that he'd said 'women' instead of 'soldiers' by mistake, and hastily tried to come up with an excuse to deny it, but that failed miserably because Heavy saw through him. Soldier was often rash and never made much sense, but he was stable in his convictions, his voice never wavering and his demeanor like granite. His mind must be near full of thoughts of the opposite sex for him to blurt out such a blatant mistake.

"Oh, okay." Heavy said dumbly. Soldier stood back, Heavy glimpsed a look of surprise on his comrades' face, but it was washed away quickly as Soldier resumed his terribly long, repetitive story. Heavy leaned back in his chair and stood the green soldiers on their feet, wondering if they made any of the figurines in the shape of women.

_________

"Petunias? Daffodils? I ain't got the slightest conception of flowers. What the hell am I doing?" Engineer paced along his armory, hastily brushing through pages of a catalog brandished with black-and-white pictures of flowers on each page. Engineer sighed and looked at the complicated flower-box-stand he'd constructed in less than a day. It stood four feet high and held steel boxes on an incline like stairs; smaller boxes were welded to the sides of the stand. It was the most unnecessarily complex flower box he'd ever seen in his life, and he was proud of it. The only problem was he had no clue as what flowers to fill it with.

There were just so many flowers to choose from! Pages upon pages of different species of flowers available to order in a variety of colors, some bloomed annually and others the whole year round. Engineer gazed longingly at the blueprints for the flowerbox, and wished he could just make her a flower instead of ordering one.

Engineer smacked himself in the head. Of course he could _make _her a flower! A whole lot of them! Big ones and small ones and then he could paint them up all different colors. Engineer sighed with relief and broke out into laughter. What a great idea! He could use the pictures from the catalog for reference and construct Pyro an entire garden of metallic, immortal flowers. Why, he could even set them up with tiny motors so they'd turn and change and fold up, just like real flowers…

"May I inquire as to _why_ you are grinning so stupidly?"

Engineer jumped at the voice behind him and twisted around quickly.

"Spy! I uh, I didn't know you was commin'." Engineer scurried to his toolbox and arbitrarily stuffed the flower catalog and his blueprints inside.

After the box was secured, Engineer faced Spy and leapt back in surprise again when he found Spy had moved to stand just a foot behind him while his back was turned.

"Jee-suhs! Don't do that! Woah. Spy, what happened to your face?"

Spy took a long drag from his cigarette and threw it to the floor, viciously smothering the embers with his foot.

"Listen to me, my friend. You will tell no one of my visit. Clear?"

Engineer nodded, his brow furrowed. He couldn't help but stare at the bulk of bloody gauze taped over the center of Spy's face, concealing his nose completely. He'd also donned a black eye patch over his left eye that did a poor job of covering the swelled purple flesh underneath.

"Heh, heheheh," Engineer laughed, a wave of realization washing over him. "You tried to visit Pyro, didn'cha?"

Spy's face contorted with rage. "I've done nozzing of the sort," he whispered.

"Heh, okay. Ya fell down some stairs then?" Engineer stifled a laugh and quietly added, "In a base full of elevators."

In an instant Spy grabbed the straps of Engineer's overalls and yanked him close. Spy was much thinner than Engineer, but also nearly a head taller. Engineer grasped his attacker's hands and twisted his leg behind Spy's; forcing is knee to bend, sending Spy to the ground on his back and Engineer landing atop. Thinking quickly, Engineer slyly unlatched the invisibility watch from Spy's wrist, tossing it away toward the flower box.

"No!" Spy yelled, reaching feebly to his most precious device. "You fool!"

"No, you're the fool! Don't you dare put your hands on me," Engineer twisted Spy's wrists above his head.

"Ze watch! Eet will disappear in anozzer moment! I must have it back!"

"Shut your damn mouth!"

The two struggled on the floor at first trying to pin the other down, but the goal soon changed from restraining the other to inflicting as much physical damage as possible. Spy managed to grab his butterfly knife from his pocket and Engineer resorted to removing his helmet and attempting to bludgeon Spy with one arm and hold back his knife hand with the other.

When both combatants had disarmed one another and were tightening their hands around each other's throats, they were interrupted by a loud banging coming from the armory door.

Engineer and Spy looked at each other, and as if coming to an agreement to finish their quarrel later, immediately released their grip, and then hurriedly rose from the floor.

"Coming!" yelled Engineer. "I'll deal with you later," he added in a whisper.

Spy sneered and continued brushing off and straightening his suit, then proceeded to the area around the flower box to find his watch.

Engineer heaved open the steel armory door. His already rapidly beating heart jumped when he found Pyro, dressed in overly large blue jeans and a fitted white tank top, and without a mask, standing before him. "Pyro!"

"Hey, Engie. I came to apologize for cracking your shin," she said shyly.

"Oh you don't have ta' worry 'bout that, nothin' Medic couldn't fix," said Engineer, out of breath.

"You okay?" asked Pyro.

"I'm fantastic," he panted. "Just finishin' up a project."

"Oh." Pyro stepped nervously from one foot to the other. She greatly wanted someone to talk to, and Engineer was the most level-headed of the whole team. She didn't want to seem desperate and give him the wrong idea. It was difficult to be herself, she wasn't even sure who she really was. The past three years she hadn't had a conversation with any of the men on her team, yet she unmistakably felt a strong bond to each of them. To them, she'd always been their trustworthy, quiet comrade who joined them in battle and shared the barracks, celebrated holidays and tragedies with. Pyro did all of this without saying one intelligible word in three years. The silent masked Pyro was who she was, and who everyone knew her to be. She didn't know what to say to anyone, and felt socially hindered.

"Can I come in?"

Engineer froze. He hadn't decided if the flower box was going to be a surprise or not. But then again, would she even have any idea what it was? He could use this opportunity to ask her about flowers, and her favorite color… _Damn! _He swore inwardly, _Spy's still inside._

"Engie?"

"Y-yeah sure, c'mon in," he stuttered.

Pyro shuffled into to the large warehouse and Engineer closed the door behind her. She'd never had a reason to be in the Engineer Armory before. Pyro was starting to think she should be thanking Scout for forcing her out of her shell; many new opportunities were being presented to her. However after seeing the devious grin plastered over Spy's battered face she felt a strong urge to kick Scout where it'd hurt the most and crawl back into the protection and ambiguity of her asbestos suit. How could he remain so adamant after she'd nearly bashed his face in?

"Mon amour," Spy bowed enthusiastically to Pyro, who purposefully overlooked him, directing her attention to a large steel mass of boxes.

"Is this your project?" she asked brightly, feeling Spy's fervent gaze on her back.

"Uhh, yeah," Engineer scratched his head, and realized he hadn't retrieved his hard-hat after using it as a weapon against Spy. He suddenly felt very mindful that his hair was probably skewed in every direction and his face covered in bruises and oil, and his torn overalls had surely seen better days. Embarrassment immobilized him, and became envious of Spy who always wore an impeccably spotless pin-striped suit that he never needed to contaminate with dirt and grease. Honestly though, he was more bothered by his new state of worry over what Pyro thought of him. She'd seen him in worse conditions and he knew he shouldn't conduct himself any differently than before, but couldn't help feeling he should impress her in some way every time she was around.

Pyro nodded in reply to Engineer, finding it hard to make conversation. "What is it?"

"What is it?" Engineer repeated automatically, jerked from his daze. "Well, it's not finished so I can't tell you just yet," he smiled awkwardly.

Engineer was acting strange, thought Pyro. Of course, this was only the second time she'd been around him since she'd been unmasked, so she figured he was still adjusting. They remained in silence for a few moments; Pyro meandered slowly around the armory while Spy opened his cigarette case and clicked it shut over and over never removing a cigarette, and Engineer watched Pyro out of the corner of his eye while pretending to look over his flower box creation.

_Okay, this is exciting. I sure am glad I decided to come here. Everyone is so self-conscious around me now, _thought Pyro.

"Well guys, I'm going to go grab a ration. Best of luck on your project, Engie," said Pyro warmly to Engineer as she walked toward the armory door. She was sure to give Spy her best scornful glare as she departed; Spy smiled with mock kindness and bowed cordially, while Engineer waved without saying a word.

"You are such a dolt," ridiculed Spy as soon as the armory door closed. "She most obviously was looking for companionship and you let 'er slip away."

"I'm not the one with the smashed up face, pal."

"You will get yours soon enough," finished Spy as he snapped his cigarette case shut one final time and placed it in his inner jacket pocket.

"You quit smokin'?" asked Engineer.

"Ze Lady loves fire but does not smoke, therefore I am wizzout options."

Engineer grimaced. It was naive of him to think he'd be the only one interested in Pyro. He figured he was still on her good side, though, since he only got a fractured shin from his confrontation and not a crushed nose and black eye.

"That explains the petulance," said Engineer with malice.

Spy ground his teeth and straightened his tie. "You are in debt to me for losing my watch."

"I'm in debt?!" angered Engineer, "'Cause you can't find your damn watch means I gotta pay for it? What are you, blind?"

"'Eef you knew anyzing about ze watch you would not 'ave thrown it so hastily. Eet's self-cloaking mechanism activates after ten seconds of my not wearing it." Spy growled. "For security precautions."

"Figures," Engineer muttered under his breath as he began shoving his many tool boxes around. "Leave it to the gutless coward to employ an invisible invisibility watch." Engineer grabbed the nearest oil can and began spraying it on the armory floor.

"What ze hell are you doing?!"

"Findin' your damn watch, that's what I'm doing."

"You will ruin it! I will not accept it!"

Engineer ignored Spy's protests and continued to spray oil on the floor, cursing quietly. After yelling himself hoarse, Spy trudged out of the armory saying something about "Ms. Blu" and "inbreeding," slamming the door behind him.

The corner with the flower box was completely covered. Only his dear project for Pyro stood spotless. "Not a damn chance," murmured Engineer to himself as he put down the near empty oil can and began sweeping his hands inside the bottom most flower box. He knew he'd found what he was looking for when his fingers ran across a cold ring of metal.

"Ah ha!" he exclaimed, holding up what appeared to be thin air.

Engineer grinned wildly. It was his turn to play a disappearing act.


	9. Soldier's Breaking Point

"_So there I was, fifty kilometers from civilization in tha' mit'le of nowhere, been steakin' out this lit'le shack for three days when the bloke who hired me calls me on the remote phone n' tells me I'm in the wrong place!" Sniper threw up his hands in exclamation. _

"_So you know what I said?" he asked rhetorically to Pyro, sitting on the opposite end of the kitchen table._

"_What did you say?" Pyro asked, fluttering her eye lashes and leaning over the table, pushing her breasts out of her much too small white tank top. _

_Sniper stared into Pyro, his mouth slightly ajar, looking like he wanted to devour her and then whispered, "I'll tell you the rest of the story if you come a bit closer," Sniper gestured to his lap._

_Suddenly, Spy materialized out of nowhere beside Sniper and Pyro. "Ma belle dame," Spy knelt down and grasped Pyro's hand, kissing it delicately, "Let us escape from zis pitiful existence and live out our passion away from prying eyes." Pyro blushed profusely, her cheeks matching her scarlet hair. As she attempted to take her hand back, Spy held it tight._

_Not a second later Medic strolled into the kitchen with a handful of blood drenched golden teeth. "Ms. Pyro, I've captured the entire RED team! Wiz zhis bounty of gold, I will craft you a fine set of jewelry fit for a queen!"_

_Just then, Heavy toppled down the wall behind Pyro, who twisted around and looked to him, her eyes filled with fear. "What sick man sends babies to woo you?!" Heavy spun up his mini-gun and began laughing manically. Pyro leapt from her chair and screamed, obviously alarmed. Heavy held onto his gun with one hand and reached out to Pyro with the other, seizing her around the waist as she struggled to run and pulled her close to him. Pyro's screams of protest went unheard as Heavy began firing his mini-gun into his own team. Bursts of bloody clouds shot up from the bodies, which remained held up by the stream of bullets like grisly marionettes._

"NO!" Soldier shot out of bed, drenched in sweat. He grabbed his chest and felt his heart pounding against his ribcage. Without forethought, Soldier hastily pulled on his uniform, threw on his helmet and dashed out of his personal quarters. In less than five minutes he'd raided the armory and equipped himself with two shotguns, his rocket launcher and ten flash grenades and parked himself outside of Pyro's door.

(Three hours later)

"I don't know what he's doing here," Pyro whispered into the phone.

"I just woke up and heard grunting outside. I looked out of the peek hole in the door and he was standing there buried in weapons."

"What? Of course I didn't ask him to come!"

"I don't know how long he's been there."

"Well, it looks like he's got his rocket launcher and a few shotguns, and he's holding a bag of something else."

"I don't know, it could be a bunch of oranges or explosives, take your pick, they look the same in a bag."

"Should I say something?"

"Just act normal? Are you sure?"

"Right. Well if I die know that I've written you out of my will. Oh, and don't go looking for that book you leant me." Pyro hung up on Medic.

Pyro paced her room in her white boxers and tank top, trying to decide if it would be wise to leave her room. On one hand, she trusted Soldier with her life; he'd never let her down or betrayed her. On the other hand, it wasn't exactly normal to find someone armed to the teeth with a rocket launcher and shotguns waiting outside your personal quarters at eight in the morning.

Soldier wasn't all there, and that was common knowledge. It wasn't unusual to walk in on him arguing with himself and drawing complex battle plans that he'd never let anyone see. From what Pyro understood, Soldier had been with the Builders League United for five years, and before that he'd served in World War II. She knew his favorite color was green, and that his favorite holiday was the Fourth of July. This was the extent of Pyro's knowledge of Soldier's personal partialities.

Pyro shook her head and sighed, and decided to take a leap of faith and trust that Soldier was armed for what he thought was a good reason and that his plans did not include killing her. Pyro dressed in her oversized black jumpsuit and pulled her mask over her head. She unlocked the five locks on her door and took a deep breath before opening it and exposing herself to Soldier.

As soon as Pyro opened the door, Soldier struck his heels together and stood at attention, his helmet covering his eyes ominously. He held one shotgun parallel to his right arm and rested it on his shoulder, with the other shotgun and his rocket launcher strapped to his back. A large heavy looking brown bag with multiple roundish objects was strapped to his utility belt.

_Okay. Act normal, _Pyro thought to herself.

Soldier said nothing when Pyro gave him a slight nod as she proceeded down the hall toward the kitchen and common area. When she was only a few steps ahead of her door, she heard Soldier's footsteps following behind her.

Pyro turned around, Soldier froze in place. She looked at him curiously but said nothing, and then cautiously continued to walk down the hall.

Again, Soldier followed until Pyro spun around to look at him, at which point he stood at attention again.

Pyro lifted her arms to her side in a shrug. _What are you doing?_

Soldier gave her a nod in reply to the shrug. Pyro shook her head and proceeded to the common area.

______

"G'morning Py---" Engineer entered kitchen and began to greet Pyro, but halted mid sentence upon noticing Soldier, armed and ready for battle standing behind Pyro as she sat at the table calmly reading a newspaper.

Engineer furrowed his brow and entered the room slowly. "G'morning Pyro, Soldier."

Soldier nodded briefly and Pyro gave a short wave. Engineer sat himself down opposite Pyro and Soldier, watching them curiously.

"Has the ceasefire ended?" Engineer asked uneasily.

Pyro shook her head.

"Oh." Engineer drummed his fingers on the table. He'd woken up with more enthusiasm than usual this morning, excited to dive into Spy's invisibility watch and possibly use it once or twice for fun before disassembling it. Even now he kept the watch in his overall pocket, suspicious that Spy might try and retrieve it from his armory when he wasn't present. However, the watch project had escaped his mind when he found Soldier guarding Pyro in the kitchen.

"How you doin', Soldier?" Engineer asked.

"Adequate, sir."

Engineer hadn't been expecting such a short answer, and hadn't planned any follow-up questions. The three sat in silence until Pyro stood and proceeded to the cabinets to retrieve a mug, and pour some coffee that had been heating on the stove.

"WAIT!" Soldier shouted, causing Pyro to jolt in surprise and spill the hot drink. Soldier took the coffee pot away from Pyro and began pouring it down the sink.

"What are you doing?!" yelled Pyro behind her mask.

"It's for your protection, Ms. Pyro. This coffee might be poisoned. No honest man leaves coffee to burn for hours!"

"Who the hell would poison the coffee?!" shouted Pyro.

"I'll find out for you, Ms. Pyro!" Soldier dropped the pot into the sink and gave Pyro a strict solute.

"Don't call me 'Ms. Pyro,' 'Pyro' is just fine."

"Yes, Lady Pyro!"

Pyro shook her head and looked to Engineer for help. Engineer shrugged.

A minute later, Sniper walked into the kitchen holding a newspaper under his arm and carrying an empty coffee mug. "Mornin' fellas," he said, tipping his hat and not giving Soldier a second glance. Pyro waved and Engineer replied with a nod. Soldier said nothing, taking his place behind Pyro as she took a seat at the table once more.

"Which one o' you pikers drank all the coffee? I only put it on an hour ago," Sniper asked irritably upon discovering the empty coffee pot in the sink.

"Ah-ha!" Soldier grabbed Sniper by the front of his jacket.

"What the hell?! Gerroff!" bellowed Sniper, dropping his mug and newspaper.

"I don't take kindly to maggots that poison their own team!" Soldier growled menacingly, shoving Sniper against the cabinets.

"I don't know anything about any poisoned coffee," choked Sniper, his face turning bright red as Soldier pressed his thumbs into Sniper's throat.

"But you do know the coffee was poisoned, eh?!" Soldier spat.

"Soldier!" Pyro roared, "Let him go! No one poisoned the god damn coffee!" Pyro hadn't thought to consider when she'd first seen Soldier outside her door that his purpose might be to kill everyone else, and not her.

"Vhat is all of zhis yelling about?" the double swinging doors parted as Medic entered, freezing at the sight of Soldier pinning Sniper against the wall.

Medic strode over purposefully, reaching into his coat pocket and revealing a wicked looking long syringe filled with clear liquid. Medic poised the syringe ready to inject it into Soldier's neck, but was thrown back by Soldier who swung his right arm around, striking the Doctor in the jaw. Medic fell to the floor, his syringe shattered beside him.

"We're under attack, Lady Pyro! Grab your flame thrower, don't let them near you!" exclaimed Soldier, reaching into his bag with his free hand and taking out a flash grenade.

"Soldier! Let him go! This is crazy! You're the only one attacking anybody!" Pyro yelled.

Soldier tightened his grip on Sniper, who was quickly turning a deeper shade of red. "There's no time to sort out details! Get out of here while you can, and I'll make sure these maggots get what they deserve before they do what they plan on doing to deserve it!"

"For God's sake, you've known Sniper for half a decade!" Engineer pleaded, "Let him go Soldier, you're gonna kill him!"

"Soldier! I order you to put him down!" Pyro screamed frantically as Sniper began turning purple.

Soldier did not reply, holding tight onto Sniper's neck.

Pyro's heart beat wildly against her chest. She had to stop him, but couldn't figure out how. There was no way she could out muscle him, and Sniper would be dead by the time she got back from the armory with weapons. He couldn't convince him to stop with words, but then again, maybe she didn't need to.

Thinking quickly, Pyro pulled off her mask and slid between Soldier and Sniper the best she could, threw her arms around Soldier's neck, closed her eyes and did what she'd never imaged she'd ever do—_kissed _him.

Immediately she felt him release Sniper, letting him slide down onto the floor. Her heart lightened upon hearing Sniper gasping for air and coughing.

Pyro felt Soldier shudder and heard the flash grenade fall to the floor with a _clunk_. She wrapped her arms tight around his neck; _you're not getting away, this is your punishment. _

After a half a minute, Pyro ended the kiss and opened her eyes to find Soldier staring at her in shock. Pyro released him and backed away, glaring at him before turning to help Sniper up from the floor.

"Thanks heaps, sheila," coughed Sniper as he collapsed in the chair Pyro helped him to.

Soldier stood motionless in the same position Pyro had left him. Looking about the room, Engineer and Medic shared the same stunned expression.

"Soldier?" Pyro called softly, "Soldier…?" she said again, nudging him gently. Soldier slowly turned to face her, his jaw hung open and eyes wide. He touched his fingers to his lips and then looked down at his hands, his shocked expression changing to fright. Without saying a word, Soldier backed away from Pyro and then bolted out the door.

Pyro turned to her team mates, still gawking at her. "What did I do?"


	10. Nazis and Straitjackets

"Und how vould you describe your childhood?" Medic reclined at his desk, pen and paper in hand.

"Eh, it was great," Demoman replied plainly, sitting in the chair opposite Medic's with his feet up on his desk.

"Mhm. You had many friends?" asked Medic.

"Yeeaah," Demoman paused. "If ye call a gang of frightened children friends then yeah, I 'ad tons."

"Frightened children, hm?" Medic replied automatically and continued doodling a picture of an anatomically correct skeleton on the pad of paper.

"They were scared of meh."

"I can't imagine all of them vere scared of you?" Medic had read a psychology book over the weekend that suggested the use of key words to show the patient you're listening and that you understand them. All you have to do is take a key word or phrase the patient says, and say it back to them in the form of a question or comment.

Demoman reconsidered and then shook his head, "Naaah. Some of 'em teased meh."

"Teased you for vhat?" The book also explained that speaking in a calm voice and using empathetic gestures were also beneficial when getting a new patient to trust you. Medic had a problem with empathy, and decided to skip most of the chapter.

"Blowin' me eye out, I think." Demoman scratched his goatee, putting a lot of effort into recalling the events that had occurred decades ago.

"Zhey teased you for losing an eye?" Medic was grateful that he'd never had more than two years of formal medical training. Reading up on medicine was awfully dull, and much less exciting than learning through hands-on experience.

"Now tha' I think of it, they prolly teased me 'cause I kilt' my parents," Demoman speculated calmly.

Medic began shading the skeleton's bones. "Eh, kids are kids, zhey are never very—" Medic froze and rotated in his chair to look directly at Demoman when he realized what he'd said.

"You killed your _parents_?" asked Medic incredulously.

Demoman laughed, "O'course! Didn'cha read my file? I thought everyone knew that."

Medic frowned and wheeled his office chair to his file cabinet and retrieved Demoman's records. As Medic sorted through the files, Demoman leaned over the desk curiously looking through the papers the Doctor pushed aside.

As a medical physician, Medic had never thought he'd have any use for the psychological evaluations included by the BLU Corp staff, and therefore disregarded them completely. Medic found Demoman's evaluation at the back of this file and began to skim over it.

After a few moments, Medic set the page down and peered at Demoman. "You und I have much more in common zhan I had ever imagined."

Demoman raised an eyebrow. "You think Nessie exists, too?"

Medic removed his glasses and set them down. He took a deep breath and then confessed shamelessly, "I am responsible for my father's death. Ve both murdered our makers. Vell, yours vas an accident, but it happened just ze same."

Demoman's head was swimming with questions. He held onto one in particular, and took a large swig from the flask in his pocket making a mental note to apologize to Engineer and then asked, "Is it 'cause he was a Nazi?"

Medic's eyes grew wide, "Vhat?! Vhere did you hear such a zhing?"

"I ain't gonna say, and it don't matter now, just know that I know," Demoman held up his hands defensively.

Medic glared at Demoman through narrowed eyes. "My father vas a Nazi, yes. But zhat vas not ze reason I killed him."

Demoman looked to Medic expectantly.

"He betrayed me. I followed his footsteps, he vas a god to me, und he betrayed me."

"Ever hear the saying, 'Do as I say, not as I do?'" Demoman asked.

"Heh. Zhat is just ze zhing! He instructed me to do as he did," Medic spat. "He was responsible for luring me into ze medical profession, und responsible for ze deaths of _thousands,_" he finished darkly, purposefully not specifying whether or not he thought this was a bad thing.

Demoman contemplated Medic. If he hadn't misunderstood him, Medic had just admitted that his father was a Nazi doctor, and that he had taken after him. If his father was responsible for thousands of deaths, then Medic must be partially responsible, too. Demoman shuffled his chair back a few inches.

"Don't look so surprised, my friend," Medic grinned.

"Can I ask ye' a question?" Demoman asked apprehensively.

Medic nodded, and for some reason he could not figure out right away, he felt very powerful knowing that his past troubled Demoman.

Demoman looked behind him at the door making sure it was shut tight. Medic was reminded of his interview video, when the young version of the man before him twisted around at his captors, looking for a way out.

Demoman turned back to Medic, leaned forward and said in a whisper, "I hear that you," Demoman winced, "I mean, the Nazi doctors, did all sorts of horrific things in those camps."

Medic glowered at Demoman, saying nothing.

"I'm not sayin' you did it, I just wanna know," he paused and continued softly, "is any of it _true?_"

"That is something I am not at liberty to discuss," said Medic with his jaw clenched. It would be entirely too gratifying to see the look on his team mate's face if he told him exactly what he was responsible for. The only thing preventing Medic from revealing his past was the embarrassing contemplation that his father had manipulated him into performing the very same crimes against humanity that Medic had murdered him for.

Demoman could tell this was going to be more difficult than he'd imagined. He figured he'd have to phrase his questions carefully, but before he did that, some tactful flattery couldn't hurt.

"Ya know, Doc, I trust you more than anyone on this team."

Medic scoffed.

"S'true! At th' end o' th' day, _you're _the one who puts me back together again. I can't trust nobody else ta' do that for me. I know you ain't a saint, but I'd rather have a veteran sinner than some white-collared book surgeon without any experience reassemblin' a body blown to bits."

"I appreciate your enthusiasm."

"N' whatever things you've done tha' ya think are unforgivable, well, I'm glad ya done 'em, cause if ya hadn't then ya wouldn't be the man you are now, n' I wouldn't have me legs," Demoman finished, watching Medic admirably.

Medic's grin grew wide, and he soon broke out into laugher.

"Vhat do you zhink I am, a voman?" he laughed. "You couldn't possibly zhink that you could smooth talk me into telling you everything, could you?" Medic leaned forward and whispered, "You are an honest man. Crazy, yes; but honest. I am disappointed zhat you resorted to sycophancy so eagerly to extract such useless information."

Demoman narrowed his eyes. His blood temperature rose and his first reaction was to knock Medic upside the head with his flask, but something subtle about his demeanor told Demoman that a violent reaction was precisely what Medic had been aiming for. Then again, if he accepted his accusation calmly and changed the subject, Medic would be more suspicious that he'd attempt to squeeze the truth out of him in the future, and always be on his guard. After arguing with himself and taking a long swig from his flask, Demoman concluded that the best thing to do was to be honest; after all, that's what Medic thought he was.

"You're right," Demoman sighed and leaned back in his chair. "You're tot'ally right."

Medic peered at his team mate.

"I'm just dead curious, ya know? I mean, how could I not be, with th' fanatical rumors out there." Demoman licked his lips. "Freezin', boilin', dismemberin', bizarre experiments---"

"Please," Medic held up his hand, "Don't say anymore."

The two men sat in silence, neither knowing what to say to the other, both minds churning. Medic thought he was going mad when he began to hear the sounds of rampant footfalls on a linoleum floor; it sounded like it was coming from the hall.

Medic looked to Demoman who nodded knowingly, his head tilted toward the infirmary entrance.

The thunderous strides stopped abruptly, replaced by a booming fist on the steel door.

"MEDIC! DOC! OPEN UP!" the young voice of Scout penetrated the walls.

"Ze door is op—"

Scout kicked in the door, not wasting time to open it properly.

"SOLDIER'S GETTIN' SACKED!"

Medic and Demoman immediately leapt up and raced toward Scout who was already rounding the corner to the next hallway before his slower team mates had emerged from the Infirmary.


	11. Ms Blu's word is law

"It was a black van, rocked up to the warehouse delivery ramp n' _seven _suits got out—one of em' holdin' a _straitjacket," _Sniper whispered precariously to his team mates, still huddled around the delivery bay where Soldier had been extracted just moments ago.

"Vhat vere you doingk at ze delivery bay?" Medic asked warily.

"I heard 'em from my sleepout," Sniper pointed his thumb behind him.

Engineer grimaced, "What the hell is a sleepout?"

"I believe he is referring to the veranda he _lives_ on," Spy answered spitefully.

"Go suck a durry, figjam," spat Sniper. Spy sneered.

"Why'd they take him?" Heavy questioned.

Engineer, Medic, Sniper and Pyro looked around guiltily. They hadn't told anyone else about Soldier's episode yesterday, agreeing it would be best to never mention it. Soldier had retreated to his room and no one had seen or heard from him until the next morning, when seven BLU Corp employees ushered him into a straitjacket and hauled him into their unmarked black van. Sniper said four of them looked like their noses were crushed, one of which left a splattered trail of blood from Soldier's quarters all the way across the base back to the vehicle, leaving no uncertainty of their intentions.

"Not sure," Sniper adjusted his hat, looking at the warehouse doorway that the BLU invaders had left half open.

Heavy's eyes followed the blood trail through the room, and then up to the eyes of his team mates. "Perhaps, he has been captured by RED," he growled.

"That was their plan all along!" everyone turned to Scout, "They distract us with a cease fire and then BAM!" he struck his fist against the aluminum warehouse door, "They cap our solly!"

Scout strode up to Medic and poked his chest with his index finger, "They'll be comin' for you next, Doc."

Medic scowled and shoved Scout's arm away.

"Gentlemen," Spy parted Scout and Medic still staring each other down, "I am more zhan confident zat Ms. Blu will be able provide us wiz ze answers we require. If she knows nozzing about why Soldier was abducted," Spy glanced at Sniper, "zhen we know we 'ave a problem. Eet is futile to fight amongst each ozzer. We are a team after all, no?"

The team assembled in the conference room fifteen minutes later. Spy sat at the very end of the elongated table holding the black receiver up to his ear, speaking in low tones to the receptionist at the other end who was verifying his identity.

Engineer elbowed Sniper to get his attention, then leaned over and whispered, "Ya think yesterday has anything to do with this?"

Sniper shook his head eagerly, "I didn't tell anyone, did you?"

"Nah, no one."

Engineer scratched his chin. He wondered if he could really trust Sniper. After all, Soldier had nearly choked him to death; it would make sense if he told Ms. Blu, and honestly, Engineer wouldn't hold it against him.

Why had Soldier been carrying around two guns and a rocket launcher in the base, following Pyro around? Was he trying to protect her? From imaginary poisoned coffee?

Engineer sighed and considered that maybe finding out one of his trusted team mates was a woman was the straw that broke the camel's back. No one knew what went on in Soldier's head. Engineer wished he could find out.

"Ahem–" a female voice suddenly boomed from the intercom unit in the center of the table as Spy set the receiver on its stand.

"Ms. Blu, eet is wonderful to hear you again," said Spy silkily.

"Yes yes, a pleasure as always," Ms. Blu said edgily, not sounding one bit pleased, "Now what is it that you need?"

Spy closed in on the intercom, "I'm sure you are aware zat one of our team has—"

"_Yes_, of course I am aware. _I_ ordered Soldier's transport to the remote base. Is this what you are wasting my time about?" Ms. Blu's cigarette-toned voice bellowed.

"Ve are concerned, zhat is all," Medic interjected.

"Your Soldier will be returned to you in a weeks' time, after he has undergone psychoanalysis and therapy. We can't have one of our best killers turning on us, can we?" the sound of a lighter sparking emitted from the unit.

Sniper lowered his head and crossed his arms, his hat bent below his eyes. Medic and Engineer both looked to Pyro who felt extremely relieved no one could see her terrified expression behind the mask.

"Ms. Blu," Heavy began politely, "I am not so sure I know what you are speaking of."

"Ahh, Heavy," Ms. Blu's smile became audible, "My dear, there is absolutely nothing you have to trouble yourself over. Soldier simply needs a little vacation. He'll be back better than ever," she finished lightly as if speaking to her favorite child.

Spy lips curled, disgusted by Ms. Blu's obvious favoritism.

"I am grateful," Heavy nodded, grinning at the scowling spy. "May I ask one more question?"

"Yes dear, anything."

"What was it that our Soldier did to deserve a vacation?"

Their leader did not respond immediately. Engineer, Medic, Pyro and Sniper avoided eye contact with anyone.

"Soldier attempted to strangle Sniper as a result of a heated dispute." Ms. Blu explained simply.

"Ah," Heavy looked directly at Sniper, who suddenly became very interested in the pattern of the wood grain table. "Thank you, Ms. Blu."

"Anything for you, Heavy," Ms. Blu finished kindly.

"Ms. Blu," Spy sat up in his chair and began to speak, "I was 'oping zat—"

"_Thank_ you for your time, BLU." The receiver clicked off promptly as Ms. Blu finished interrupting Spy.

Spy shot out of his chair and swept his arm across the table, sending the receiver smashing into the wall. He glared angrily at Heavy, grinding his teeth. Heavy smiled ominously, goading Spy. The Frenchmen bit his tongue and glowered at the rest of the team before storming out of the conference room.

"What the hell was that all about?" Scout asked, his feet up on the table.

"I think Spy's got himself a Napoleon Complex," speculated Engineer.

"Who's Napoleon?" the young man asked, swiveling his chair and standing up.

Engineer laughed. His smile faded quickly when his eyes fell upon Pyro, whose head was hung low. He was grateful that yesterday's events were not delved into.

The only ways Ms. Blu could have known what Soldier had done would be if she had a recording device in the kitchen, or if Medic, Sniper or Pyro said anything to her. It was possible that Soldier had committed himself, but then why would he struggle when being detained? Engineer couldn't be sure that Medic, Sniper, Pyro or even Soldier hadn't said anything to Spy, Heavy, Scout or Demoman, or even Ms. Blu directly.

Engineer stood up and nudged Pyro, who shook herself and got up when she realized everyone was leaving. She nodded to Engineer and sulked to her personal quarters, unsure of herself in nearly every way possible. It was _her _fault Soldier tried to kill Sniper; it was _her _fault Ms. Blu took him from the team to be psycho-analyzed; and all because _she _was a _woman. _Pyro groaned as she pushed open her door and locked herself in. She wanted to tear her room apart. No, she wanted to burn it.

"God fucking damn it!" Pyro raged, sending her fist through the closet door. Droplets of blood soaked into her glove as she removed her hand from the splintered wood. She ripped her mask from her face and threw it into the wall where it landed atop her lounge chair, the eyes of the mask staring at her.

Pyro collapsed on her bed holding tight onto her bleeding, gloved hand.


	12. Engineer's Gift

_Knock-knock-knock._

Pyro shut her eyes tight and waited for the pounding to stop.

_Knock-knock-knock-knock._

Looking up at the clock on the wall, she cringed when she read that it was 4:30am. Who the hell wanted to talk to her at 4:30am?

_Knock-knock-knock._

Pyro kicked away the covers and slid her feet over the side of the bed and onto the cold laminate floor. Half awake and half in a dream, Pyro fumbled into her jump suit without removing her pajamas and then fit on her mask. She walked to the door and unlatched the five locks with her eyes closed, and kept them shut when she opened the door to prevent the light from pushing her further away from sleep.

"G'morning, Pyro."

Pyro grunted in reply.

"Care for some coffee?"

Pyro nodded and gestured for whoever it was at the door to come inside. She still didn't bother to open her eyes. Maybe if she sat down in the lounge chair she could fall asleep again, and they won't notice her eyes were closed with the mask on…

"Actually, I was wonderin' if you would join me for a bit."

Pyro opened her eyes finally to discover Engineer's blurry image before her. "G'morning Engie. I'm actually going to go back to sleep," she said, interrupted by a yawn, "if that's okay with you."

"I don't think you'll wanna miss this, trust me."

With a sigh Pyro stepped out of her warm, stuffy room and entered the cold hallway. "Where are we going?" she asked groggily.

"My armory," said Engineer as he handed Pyro a warm cup of coffee.

Neither parties spoke during the five minute walk to the Engineer's Armory. All Pyro could think about how comfortable her bed was despite having drunk half of her coffee in the short walk around the base.

"Here we are," Engineer stopped before the large sliding door to the armory and faced Pyro. Engineer looked down at his feet nervously. "I uh, was wonderin' if you wouldn't mind closin' your eyes. I'll let'cha know when you can open 'em again."

Pyro smiled and pulled off her mask. "What is this, some kind of surprise?" she asked, shaking out her red hair.

Engineer smiled, his cheeks creasing against his black circular goggles. "It isn't polite to ask about surprises, Miss."

Pyro beamed and shut her eyes again, this time fully awake and her stomach full of butterflies. She couldn't remember the last time anyone had given her a surprise. Christmas was an event at the base, but there were never any gifts exchanged, just drinking and partying.

She felt Engineer walk up to her and take her mask and coffee mug from her hands. Engineer slid open the armory door, and then stood on Pyro's left side and placed his arm around her back to guide her through the door.

"Watch your step," he reminded her, even though she'd remembered the door frame was raised and already begun stepping over it. Engineer stopped her a few steps into the room and told her to wait. She heard the armory door slide shut.

Engineer returned to her side and pulled an oil rag from his overall pocket and wiped his goggles clean, then stuffed the cloth away. He brushed off his already clean shirt and looked himself over once more before tucking his thumbs into the straps of his overalls and steadying himself, "Okay, open 'em."

Pyro opened her eyes, and immediately her jaw dropped. A winding steel frame of boxes with decorative welds in twists and swirls stood before her, reaching shoulder height. Within each of the boxes were groups of four to six unusual looking flowers, much too shiny and perfect to be real. The bottom most flowers were deep navy, ocean and sky blue, round thin-petal flowers with bright yellow centers. The middle boxes held a green vine adorned with pastel blue funnel-shaped flowers, reminding Pyro of her own BLU asbestos battle suit. At the very top, three boxes arranged side-by-side held the most exotic flowers, real or otherwise that Pyro had ever seen. The left box was garnished with smooth roses of radiant cobalt, their elegant stems a twist of emerald wires and protruding thorns. The right box, glittering sapphire-striped white daffodils, within their centers were thin, spiraling yellow twirls of wire. The center box was reserved for just three lilies, the type of which Pyro was not sure. Each had six long, glossy rounded petals, the stems from the center glittering with some kind of metallic dust. The two outer lilies were a swirling mix of indigo-violet. The center lily stood out from all of the rest; its center like the other two lilies sparkled akin to diamond, but unlike any other flower in any of the boxes, its petals appeared to be ablaze. Crimson and gold melded together, constantly changing. Thin azure streaks appeared and faded within the confines of the lustrous petals.

"Oh, Engie," gasped Pyro, her heart fluttering.

"Those are called 'November Lilies," Engineer commented, noticing Pyro gazing at the three top flowers.

"You just decided to make this one day? This was your project?"

"Yes'm," Engineer said softly.

"It's incredible. What's it for?" Pyro asked, studying each metal flower.

"I, uh," Engineer stammered, his face turning red. "I made it for you," he murmured.

Pyro froze. "You made this for _me?" _she asked in disbelief.

Engineer nodded. "You joined us on November 13th, 1965. Hence the--" Engineer's voice cracked nervously; he pretended to cough and looked away, suddenly very afraid, "Hence the November Lilies."

His heart slammed against his ribcage with every beat, his mouth became dry and his palms clammy. _Why am I feeling this way?_ Engineer panicked inwardly, unsure if making a gift for Pyro was the right thing to do.

To his surprise, Pyro strode up to him and threw her arms around him, standing on her toes to reach him properly.

Engineer's heart slowed, a wave of relief washed over him. _She doesn't hate it,_ he thought cheerfully.

"_ATTENTION—" _the base intercom system resounded off the walls. Engineer and Pyro thrust one another away gracelessly in reaction to the voice.

"_EVERYONE REPORT TO ZE CONFERENCE ROOM IMMEDIATELY," _the familiar voice of Spy commanded them.

Pyro gave Engineer a meek smile, and wished she weren't so afraid to give him a thank-you kiss on the cheek. Considering Soldier had to be taken to therapy after being kissed by her, she thought it best that she kept her lips to herself.

"Thank you so much, Engie. You're a good friend." Pyro felt that her thanks were just not enough. Here, Engineer had created a fantastic immortal garden just for her, and all she could do in return was hug him, and tell him he was a good friend. Pyro swore inwardly but kept on smiling on the outside. _I'll repay you, I promise. _

"You are more than welcome, Miss," Engineer gave her a warm smile as he walked to the armory door and slid it open, gesturing for her to walk ahead of him.


	13. Stockholder's Meeting

At 5:30 in the morning, Engineer and Pyro entered the conference room to find everyone else already seated, waiting for them to arrive. Spy looked back and forth from Pyro to Engineer, setting his scowl on the Southerner who replied with a jovial smile.

Spy tapped his pen on the desk irritably, "Zhank you for showing up."

Pyro grimaced forgetting she wasn't wearing her mask. Spy watched her inquisitively.

"Ms. Blu 'as asked us here this morning for a brief discussion on ze annual shareholders meeting. She will be meeting us at," Spy paused and pulled a pocket watch out of his inner jacket pocket, "0600 hours."

"0600?! I could'a been asleep for another half hour, ya bastard," Demoman growled, laying his head on his folded arms.

Sniper raised his eyebrows and sipped his coffee, penciling in a crossword puzzle in the newspaper. "Don't suppose that those richies'll give us battlers some recognition this year, do ya?"

"Don't get your 'opes up," Demoman muffled into the table.

"We got somethin' last year," said Scout, repeatedly rolling a worn out baseball across the table hitting Demoman in the arm, catching it as it rolled slowly back to him.

"Yeah, a television set and a vacation to Greenwater, California, an' that was just to get us outta the base so they could search our quarters. Bloody ratbags," Sniper spat angrily.

"Zhey didn't find anyzhing, though," noted Medic, "Everyzhing appeared to be in order vhen ve returned."

"Speak for yourself, Doc," Scout squeezed the baseball tight, "All my magazines were missing when I came back. Thought Demo stole 'em up until just a second ago." Demoman lifted his head, frowning at Scout.

Before anyone could ask Scout exactly what kind of magazines BLU Corp would confiscate, the red light on the intercom centered on the table clicked on unexpectedly. The team looked at the light curiously; it was still fifteen minutes to six.

"Good morning, BLU," Ms. Blu's voice emanated from the device.

"'Allo, Ms. Blu. We are all present and account for," Spy reported.

"As you all should be aware," Ms. Blu continued without acknowledging to Spy, "The annual Builders League United stockholders meeting will take place this coming Saturday in Death Valley, California."

Scout twirled his index finger in the air and mouthed the words, "_big whoop,"_ toward Engineer, who grinned.

"Among the topics of discussion are the payments and benefits of the field team – _that's you_ – along with your most recent victories and _failures," _she emphasized the world 'failures' scathingly.

"And," Ms. Blu sighed deeply, "against my advisement, the BLU Board of Directors has made the decision to require _every _employee to attend a stockholders meeting a minimum of once every ten years."

The team continued to stare blankly, the words of Ms. Blu passing right through them.

"_Did you numbskulls hear what I just said?!" _the intercom vibrated on the table top. "_You _all are _required _to attend a stockholders meeting!"

"Us?" asked Demoman, his face contorted in confusion.

"_Yes_," snarled Ms. Blu, "I will arrange for a transport to retrieve you Saturday morning for the event. Wednesday a tailor will visit the base to fit you for appropriate attire. The fees of course will be deduced from your pay. I want to get this over with as soon as possible."

The team looked around at each other with bemused expressions. Even Spy, who took pride in appearing informed even when he was in the dark looked utterly perplexed. Without warning, Scout broke out in laugher.

"Ahahaha! Oh you got us good, Lady. For a second there I nearly thought you were for real," Scout wiped a tear away, "Honestly though, can we talk about raises?"

Tension leaked from the intercom, filling the room with stiff, unpleasant silence. Demoman's jaw hung slightly ajar, his eyes darting from Scout to the intercom, looking like he expected it might explode any second. Engineer shook his head at Scout, thankful that he wasn't him. Medic grinned and stifled a laugh, biting into his fist. Heavy was counting silently on his fingers, and Pyro hung her head, waiting for Ms. Blu to start screaming. Only Sniper looked unmoved, quietly scribbling through his crossword puzzle.

"Please, Ms. Blu, excuse Scout. 'E 'as had a _rough _time adjusting to ze cease fire," Spy made a cutting motion across his throat at Scout.

The intercom clicked and the red light turned off abruptly.

"Ms. Blu is not happy with you, my friend!" Heavy's mouth stretched into a wide grin, "She is probably thinking of a way to _kill _you right now," he said threateningly.

"Scout," Spy rose from his chair and began shaking his head.

"What?!" shouted the young man, his hands visibly trembling gripping the baseball. "She shouldn't be so touchy! I was only kiddin'."

"Spy," Engineer motioned to the large machine in the glass office bordering the conference room, where a stream of white paper was falling out of the device and collecting on the floor. Spy opened the office and retrieved the stack of paper, dropping it onto the table and reading the top page silently.

"Well?" Scout interjected, tapping the floor nervously, "What's gonna happen to me?"

"Don't be so vain. This iz only paperwork. It says here we must sign disclosure forms in order to attend ze event."

"You mean there was nothin' about me?" Scout walked around the table to Spy and tore through the pile of papers.

"Get away, zhere is nozzing about you. Go, shoo," Spy pushed the youth away.

Scout balled his hand into a fist, his face set in rage. Engineer put a hand on Scout's shoulder and shook his head.

After Scout had calmed down, Spy had passed out the disclosure forms for the team to sign. Among the list of items they weren't permitted to bring were any sort of weaponry or sensitive materials including Spy's watch and Engineer's self-erecting equipment boxes. Also, no one under the influence of drugs or alcohol would be let in (Demoman groaned and complained upon reading this) and everyone must wear proper attire, as this was a formal dinner meeting.

"Is Soldier going to be there you think?" Pyro asked in general.

"Da, Ms. Blu said he would be back in a week. Next Saturday is a week," Heavy nodded. "Ms. Pyro, do you think I should wear blue tux, or black? What will you be wearing?"

Pyro smiled at Heavy, whose eyes at lit up when her gaze turned to him.

"What do you think they're doin' to 'em?" Engineer looked to Medic.

"I vas not informed," Medic signed the paper, placed the cap on his pen and planted it into his breast pocket.

"Shocker," scoffed Scout, spinning in his chair.

"Electroshock therapy, thick-needle acupuncture, lobotomy." Medic fixed his eyes on Scout.

"That's what they're doin' to Soldier?" Scout asked dubiously, his eyes wide.

"Zhat is vhat I vill to do _you _if you don't keep your mouth shut."

Scout presented Medic with his middle finger and got up to leave. "You'll shut _your_ mouth if you know what's good for you, old man."

Turning his back on the veteran Nazi doctor was his first mistake. The second mistake Scout made, was twisting around to attempt to remove the glass syringe from his back, causing him to shatter it with his weight as he fell to the floor.

"What the fuck, Doc?! You're a—" Scout clawed the wall groggily, trying to stand up, "You're a psycho,"

"Sweet dreams, fraulein."

"I gotta say, Doc," Engineer gawked at Scout, twitching on the floor, "I didn't think you could throw that far."


	14. To My Reviewers

To my reviewers:

I never imagined that anyone would be interested in my story enough to do something crazy like, subscribe to it ;D It makes me incredibly giggly and excited to read each of your reviews, it feels so great knowing that you all are excited for the next chapter and encourages me to write it ^.^

The input you all provide is invaluable. For instance, when Mar-the-Fen suggested that Sniper's character was lacking, I looked back and noticed that I really hadn't included much of him, despite his influence in the game and on the team. Instantly I began thinking on him, and slowly developing him in the story. I promise you will see much more of Sniper ;D

The most difficult part of this story is finding out where the team came from, but it is also the most captivating. Demoman came easy to me. Medic, of course, being my favorite character, I had already planned out. By far the most difficult to know was Engineer, and he came to me by accident in a dream, so I had a lucky break there. I plan on going into the backgrounds of each character similar to how I went into Demoman.

I'm so excited about the next chapters of the story. In the earlier chapters I planted things that will tie in to the next parts, so some of those parts that don't seem like they were incredibly important, actually are. Oooh teh sneekyness.

It's so hard not to fall in love with Spy. He's so suave and a real big jerk sometimes, but he really sees behind everything, always scheming…

Pyro, well, I'm saving her for last I think ;)

Thanks again to all of you who have written replies, and to everyone who has read the story! I am grateful and ecstatic ;D

Look at me still talking when there's writing to do. When I look out there it makes me glad I've got you ^.-

Dreadd Muffin


	15. Prisoner of BLU, take 2

**Message from Dreadd: Some of you might be wondering what happened to the original "Prisoner of BLU" -- I trashed it. This one is much betterified ^.- YAY!**

**Important Details: The italic texts are Soldier's flashbacks to WWII.  
**

* * *

"_Cover the line, men! Don't give those Krauts an inch!" the young Soldier shouted, burying himself into a foxhole covered with branches. In the foxhole to his left, two other American soldiers held their rifles over a fallen tree, their eyes thin slits between their green bucket helmets and firearms. _

_What sounded like an entire company of SS soldiers bordered the horizon beyond the line of trees, their dark billowing trench coats a sharp contrast to the white snow. _

_

* * *

_"Soldier. Is this the name that you go by?" Two average sized white men stood on either side of Soldier dressed in crisp black suits and plain blue ties.

"Sir! Yes Sir!" Soldier shouted, his arms twisted and bound to his chest by a white jacket.

"How long have you been with the Builders League United?" asked the man with blond crew-cut hair to Soldier's right.

"Five years and three days, Sir!"

The BLU Corp employee to the left with receding hairline raised an eyebrow at his coworker.

* * *

"_MORTARS! Get in your foxhole! Take cover! Get in your foxholes!" the company Lieutenant ran in a crouch between his men and their dug out ruts in the frozen earth. "Don't retreat! Hold the line!"_

_The Lieutenant darted from hole to hole, shouting words of encouragement barely heard above the enemy and friendly fire. It didn't matter so much that they could hear what he was saying, but simply that they heard a trusting voice above the chaos._

_Trees spontaneously ruptured into showers of splinters as shells packed with explosives fell from the sky. Smoke enclosed the American troops in a blind battle, their enemy's shouts looming ever closer. _

_

* * *

_"Do you know why we brought you here, Soldier?" the blond man asked.

"Sir, to test my conviction!" Soldier shouted.

The employees looked quizzically at their patient. "I suppose you could say that."

"I did say that, Sir!"

"Look, son, you don't have to call us 'sir' all of the time," the balding man said.

"Sir, you are my superior officer and I am required to address you as such, Sir!"

The balding man pressed his fingers to his eyes. This was going to be a very long day.

* * *

"_Hold your fire!" the Lieutenant shouted as the enemy fire died away. The veteran dropped into a foxhole beside a young soldier behind a mounted machine gun, his overly large bucket helmet covering his eyes. Even now he gripped the handles of the gun tight, his hands frozen and knuckles white. _

"_Easy, son," whispered the leader, "did the medic pass by here?"_

"_I haven't seen him since before the enemy instigation, Sir," the young Soldier replied in a harsh whisper. The Lieutenant looked over the man, and realized he had no idea who he was. His BDUs were littered with bullet holes and stained blood. The left pant leg was torn away at the knee, the fringes burnt. The soldier's boots appeared much too large, the left of which matched his burnt pant leg with a scorched top; a patch of what looked like bloodied, charred flesh melted into the laces. His body appeared to be unhurt in any way._

"_What happened to your boots, Private?" _

"_Sir, I don't think this is the time to ask about my uniform," the young man pointed out into the gradually clearing white smoke. "Two o'clock, there's your medic."_

_

* * *

_"Can we ask you why you attacked seven BLU Corp employees who came to retrieve you under orders of Ms. Blu?" asked the balding man.

"Sir, any good soldier remains suspicious at all times. Especially when seven armed men split open the door to your private quarters unannounced," Soldier explained in a subdued voice.

"One of the men is dead, Soldier. You killed him." The air in the room became thick. The two men in suits glared at man bound by a strait jacket, whose less than subtle grin was the only part of his face they were able to see under his battered bottle green helmet.

"Straight-shot helmet strike to the nose can do that, Sir,"

"I don't think you understand," the balding man said sternly, looking from the other man in the suit back to the confined soldier, "You are responsible for the death of a BLU Corporation employee."

"Death happens every day, Sir," Soldier's head jolted to face his accuser. "_Get used to it," _he snarled.

"He _died_ last night of brain hemorrhaging. Shards of his nose were found lodged in hisbrain," the balding BLU Corp employee explained in a low voice, as if telling the Soldier the cause of death might make him feel remorse.

"Now, Soldier, we don't want you taking this too hard," the blond man began in an understanding voice, "Death is never easy on your conscience. You can call me Jackson," the blond man gave Soldier a hard slap on the back. "You'll be staying with us for the week, I'm sure we'll get to know each other pretty well. You just settle here for a bit and we'll send someone in with the keys to that jacket and good hot meal."

Soldier tilted his head back revealing his vivid azure eyes beneath his bucket helmet and glowered at the man named Jackson.

* * *

"_Mary, Mother of God," the Lieutenant crawled hastily from the foxhole upon seeing their Medic pinned below the remnants of a fallen tree. His red-cross helmet laid a body's length away, a jagged hole the size of a man's fist through the side. "MEDIC!"_

_The young Soldier doubted that there was another medic nearby, or that this medic would benefit from any sort of help. He was beyond gone. And if he wasn't dead just yet, he would be very soon._

_Soldier dropped the handle of his machine gun, grabbed his rifle and attached the bayonet. He crawled out of the foxhole to the company leader who began scavenging morphine and bandages from the dead medic's supply bag. The veteran noticed the young man approaching and began handing him the provisions. "What company are you from, son?" _

_Soldier pretended to glance behind him, taking a look at the patch on his stolen uniform. "All Americans, the Eighty-Second Airborne, Sir."_

_The leader looked at him skeptically. Soldier held his own, not breaking eye contact. _

"_I understand what division you are from, we're all in the Eighty-Second Airborne. What I asked you, is what company you are from." _

_Soldier of course had no idea what the hell this man was talking about. Apparently, buying a ticket to Europe and stealing the uniform from a dead American soldier was not enough to pass for one. "Well, that's easy, I—"_

"_Mortar fire! Get in your holes!" someone yelled as the menacing whistling of falling bombs grew louder._

_

* * *

_"I don't see how Ms. Blu could have hired this screwy bastard," Jackson stated, puffing a cigarette and pacing behind the one-way mirror into the interrogation room.

"According to Ms. Blu, he's one of their top killers. She says he and that big Russian guy hold the line pretty damn well. And she wants him back, so don't get any good ideas," Larson explained.

"Top killer is right, he tried to kill the sniper on their field team, and he's already killed one of our men! He's ready to retire, if you ask me. How old is he, fifty? Jesus, Larson, my father is fifty."

Larson flipped through a manila folder, pulling out a single sheet at the back. "He's forty-one."

"Yeah well that helmet doesn't help."

"Don't try and take it off him," Larson replaced the sheet in the folder and stared at his partner seriously. "I mean it. This guy is trouble. We're lucky we only have him until Saturday."

"And what does Ms. Blu expect us to do with him?"

"We just observe his progress and make sure he doesn't hurt himself."

"I'm more worried about us."

"The way she explained it to me," Larson began, ignoring his associates' comment and watching the unmoving Soldier in a strait jacket in the interrogation room, "is she wants to give him a trigger. Keep him just as mentally unhinged, but only under her call, after he hears a certain key word."

"Oh, sure, I get it now. That makes _perfect_ sense. We'll just tell him, 'Don't be crazy until Ms. Blu tells you to!' and give him a few treats and send him on his way. Why don't we boil the oceans while we're at it?"

"I've already hired a special doctor for him," Larson stated, walking up to the one-way mirror. "He's this specialist from France who knows a lot about this mental stuff, he should be able to help him."

Jackson laughed. "That sounds way more expensive than the contract would allow. He's already been assigned a doctor on base, why don't we let him work it out? I don't think Ms. Blu is going to –"

"She's already agreed to it."

"Agreed to pay _thousands_ of dollars to hire some quack to program a catch-phrase into this psychopath, just so he won't go killing his colleagues?! That doesn't sound like the moneygrubber Ms. Blu I know."

The two men watched Soldier strapped to his chair, still displaying a depraved grin. "Apparently, this guy is worth every penny."


	16. Bandages and Cigarettes

"You should have brought zhis to me earlier, I can't promise zhere von't be scaring," Medic explained as he rubbed an oily substance into the cuts on Pyro's right hand.

Pyro smirked at Medic, "Did you forget who you were talking to?"

The Doctor shrugged and began carefully cutting a patch of gauze to fit his team mate's wounds. "Vhy did you put your hand through a vall, anyvay?"

"It was a door, and it was an accident."

"Ahh," Medic said wisely, fully aware Pyro wasn't being truthful, "Demoman has many 'accidents.' Last veek I had to treat him for first-degree burns."

"Trying to cook naked again?" she laughed.

Medic replied monotonously, "Urinating on an electric fence."

Pyro broke out into hysterics; her stomach pained her from laughing so hard. Pyro always found Medic's company very amusing. His dry, passive aggressive humor was something she always enjoyed. Medic never blatantly joked or made fun, choosing to plant inconspicuous verbal assaults instead that could be difficult to pick out of a rolling conversation.

"You must remain still," he said sternly, the corners of his mouth slightly upturned.

Pyro's laughter had awoken a landslide of happy memories. She felt playful and almost silly; her following question reflected her light-hearted mood.

"What's your favorite color?"

Medic looked up from her nearly completely bandaged hand, taken aback, "Mein? I haven't thought about it. I'm not sure."

"What color do you like to see the most?" Pyro repeated her question with different words.

"Not red," he stated dryly. Pyro smiled. "I guess," the Doctor began, setting down the gauze wrappings and looking up thoughtfully, "mein favorite color is blue."

"Why blue?"

"Ze color of ze sky, of ze ocean, und our allies," he nodded, securing Pyro's bandages with small knots.

"Mine are red and orange, and I guess blue too, since it means allies," she beamed, wanting to add _and the flowers Engineer made for me._

Medic nodded politely in reply.

The two remained in silence for a few moments, Medic dutifully wrapping and knotting Pyro's bandage. Pyro wondered if it would be a good idea to mention the flowers that Engineer had made her. Medic was a reasonably understandable person and probably wouldn't get upset or turn away; she actually couldn't imagine him doing anything of the sort. If anything, he'd lecture her on being cautious. After a minute of arguing with herself, she decided to tell him.

"Engineer made these beautiful flowers, all different shades of blue. Dark, light, ocean and sky colored," Pyro mused.

Medic froze, holding an unfinished knot between his fingers. "He _vhat_?"

"Oh, Doc you should see the gorgeous flowers he made, and all from metal! Dark blues and light blues, some purples, and one red and orange color changing flower. I don't know how he made it change colors, but it's mesmerizing," she said, smiling and staring into her hand distractedly.

"He," Medic choked and looked directly at her, "_He made you flowers_."

"Well yeah, I guess they were for me," she blushed, "No one on the team has ever given me a gift."

"He said zhey vere for _you_?" Medic asked seriously, the color draining from his face.

"Yeah, he said they were for me. Why?" Pyro raised an eyebrow, thrown off by Medic's odd reaction. Was he jealous that Engineer gave her a gift? That was the last thing she'd expected.

"Oh mein Gott," Medic blanched. "Oh, Gott, Pyro, no no no," he removed his gloves and stood up. "He made you flowers. Gott, he made you _flowers."_

The Doctor paced beside his desk while Pyro looked on, not knowing what to make of his response.

"He made you flowers. Okay, ve may be able to deal vith zhis. Yes, ve vill be vine. Pyro," Medic stopped pacing to look at her, his face screwed up with worry. "I need you to do me a favor. Zhis is incredibly important."

Pyro narrowed her eyes, "What kind of favor?"

"You mustn't speak or see Engineer, I need to see him first and zhen I vill let you know if you can—"

"What do you mean, I can't see Engineer?" Pyro rose and placed herself in front of Medic, prepared to give him the same gift she gave to Spy.

"Listen," Medic peered over Pyro to make sure the infirmary door was shut then whispered, "I can't tell you vhy; you must trust me. _Do not try and visit him."_

Pyro bit her lip, her blood beginning to boil. "I will see anyone I want. _You _can't stop me."

Medic scowled, "Zhis is not about you! Gah, well it is somevhat about you," he turned away from Pyro.

"Of course it's about me! Look at me and tell me you're not doing this because—" Pyro bit her tongue.

"Because vhy? Vhy do you zhink I'm asking you not to see him?" Medic spun around and demanded, standing up to his full stature a whole head height above Pyro. "Because I am _jealous? _Don't be so vain, fraulein."

"I like you, Doc. _Don't_ piss me off, and I'll make sure your infirmary doesn't go up in flames."

"You are so pigheaded! Idle threats von't get you anyvere. Get zhat mask on your face and stay in your room und _don't_ go looking for Engineer."

In a flash Pyro charged her shoulder into Medic, slamming him against the file cabinet. Pyro backed off and threw her fist towards Medic's face. Despite having the wind knocked out of him, the Doctor reacted quickly, deflecting Pyro's fist outward with one arm and using his other to grab her by the throat. Pyro choked and sputtered, and did what came natural; thrust her knee as hard as she could between Medic's legs. Medic gasped sharply and his grip tightened, his face turned red and he began to tremble. Without warning he pushed Pyro away and fell back onto the file cabinet, grasping it with one hand for support while the other rested between his legs.

"_Vine!_" panted Medic, his eyes screwed up in pain, "It von't be mein fault if you get yourself _killed!"_

"And how would I go about doing that?!" Pyro retorted angrily.

"Engineer _got_ here by making flowers for vemen! Vhy don't you go ask him about it yourself!" Medic gingerly walked over to his chair.

"Is it possible for you to be any more vague?!" yelled Pyro, "You can't just tell me I can't do something and expect me to follow you blindly! Give me a goddamn reason why I can't see Engineer!"

"Get out of my infirmary! I'm through tryingk to help you," Medic reclined in the chair, his eyes squeezed shut.

Pyro's heart sped up; she wanted to slap Medic across the face for being so difficult. Pyro trudged toward the door, convinced that Medic was just a stubborn, jealous fool. Before she had opened the infirmary door (planning to slam it violently on the way out) Medic spoke up.

"Spy vill give you answers. Tell him I sent you."

* * *

"I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe I'm doing this," Pyro muttered to herself as she made her way to Spy's personal quarters. She pulled her hair back and tied it with a string, attempting to make the most of her disfigurement and possibly ward off Spy from wanting to… Pyro shivered. The thought of Spy doing anything other than burning to a crisp made her cringe.

Pyro looked down and up the hallway and listened for anyone coming her way. She swore she'd heard someone walking a few feet away, but didn't see anyone. When she was sure she was alone, she knocked on Spy's door.

A moment later, the metal clanking of locks told Pyro to put on her best scowl. The door opened a crack and a sliver of Spy, unkempt and in disarray, peered through the opening.

"What do you—" Spy's eyes went wide when he realized who was visiting him, and then slammed the door.

"Oh, c'mon," Pyro grumbled, and began banging on the door. "I've got something important to ask you, goddamnit."

Thirty seconds later, the door whipped open to reveal Spy, dressed and polished, standing before her with a gracious smile. "Ma douce fleur, what brings you to visit me so early in ze day?"

"Stuff it, Frenchie," Pyro entered the dorm pushing Spy aside.

"I love a woman 'oo takes control," he said softly, closing the door (and locking it, to Pyro's discontent) behind her.

Spy's dorm was utterly immaculate, and even more frightening, symmetrical. Each picture on the wall had a matching counterpart on the wall opposite, both holding duplicate paintings in the exact same frames. A tall, four post bed was positioned with the headboard against the center of the back wall, with twin nightstands on either side. Two identical desks, one on each side of the room were dressed with the same desk lamps. The only difference Pyro noticed was that one desk held books, papers, files and a projector while the other had neatly stacked organizers filled with tiny metal parts, and a rack of delicate looking tools.

"So," Pyro began, looking around and wondering how anyone could live in a place so painstakingly arranged, "I have something I need to know. Medic said that I should ask you," Pyro turned around and found Spy gazing into her.

"Yes, questions," he took a step forward, "You are so beautiful. But of course, you are well aware," he said with a toothy grin.

Pyro rolled her eyes. "I didn't come here for you. I came here to ask you about Engineer. Don't think I'm visiting you because I want to, I'm doing it because I have to." Although it hurt to say those things even to Spy, she convinced herself it was for the best and would help to avoid an uncomfortable situation. At least, that's the conclusion she came to logically.

"Mhmm," Spy hummed, casually strolling past her to take a seat at the desk on the left filled with files and folders. "What do you want to know about our hard-headed friend?"

"Well," Pyro began, standing awkwardly across the room diverting her gaze from Spy.

"Let me guess—" he interrupted, "You told ze Doctor about ze little flowers Engineer crafted, and Medic told you zhat Engineer iz _dangerous." _

Pyro looked sideways at Spy, unsure of how he already knew so much. "He said I couldn't see Engineer."

"_You are seeing him?" _asked Spy, much too interested for Pyro's taste. She fooled with the idea of telling him that she was _seeing _Engineer in that way, but couldn't bring herself to do it.

"No, I'm not _seeing_ seeing him. Medic just said I couldn't speak or go visit him, and I want to know why that has anything to do with the flowers he made me."

Spy's face relaxed and he ran his hands through his short brown hair. "Of course you are not _seeing _him. 'Ow silly of me. Please, won't you sit down?" Spy gestured to the chair on the opposite desk.

"Is this going to take long?" Pyro asked irritably, pulling the chair and bringing it closer to Spy.

"_Eef you want it to_," he looked Pyro up and down. "Zat jumpsuit does not do your figure justice, mon cheri."

Pyro glared. The only thing stopping her from tearing him to pieces was that he knew something she did not. Even now, she was having difficulty putting the idea aside. "What do flowers have to do with my not seeing Engineer?"

Spy lifted a pen from the holder on his desk and twirled it between his fingers gracefully. "What do I get out of zis?"

"The gratified feeling of _not _having scars like mine," Pyro growled.

Spy smirked and licked his lips, tracing the maze of scars covering half of Pyro's face and neck with his eyes. "May I ask you somezhing?"

"What?"

"'Ow far down do zhey go? Ze scars, I mean."

Pyro's first instinct was to bludgeon Spy with the very chair she sat in, and then while he was unconscious light him and his neat little dormitory on fire. However at the idea of fire, a spark lit up her brain. She could incite a different, more spiteful flame within Spy himself. She felt giddy and disgusted at the same time. Maybe when she was finished with him, he wouldn't bother with her anymore.

"Wouldn't you like to know," she taunted with a mild scowl.

Spy grinned, recalling when the same words were said to him by Medic in the same tone, about roughly the same subject. "You must 'ave an idea of 'ow difficult it 'as been for all of us in zheze most recent weeks. I can't imagine zhat we are so capable in concealing what iz only natural."

"Please," Pyro smiled despite herself, "be more mysterious," she gave a short laugh. She could see the instant reaction within Spy; he gripped the armrest of the chair and sat up straight, his eyes alight.

"You are asking ze right man." He reached inside his jacket pocket and retrieved his silver cigarette case, which he snapped open with one hand. "For you, mon amour, I quit."

Pyro looked taken aback, she truly hadn't expected this. "You quit smoking?"

He nodded shut the case, tossing it onto the desk, "I am prepared to do so much more for you," he reclined in his chair and leaned back, sitting not unlike a king on a throne and whispered softly, "You only need to _ask_."

Searching about the room with her eyes, Pyro did not find one ash tray. She hadn't initially noticed the lack of pungent cigarette smoke, but now it was undeniably noticeable. Pyro tilted her head thoughtfully, giving Spy a meek smile while wondering to herself how she could use this to her advantage.

Pyro set her sights into Spy's and grinned. She carefully moved her hand over to the chrome cigarette case on the desk, making sure to gently brush Spy's arm as she did so. She pressed the clasp and the case popped open. Pyro tentatively selected one of the many slender white cigarettes and placed the case on her lap, then slowly zipped down the front of her jumpsuit.

She was glad to see Spy was positively on edge, his eyes darting from the cigarette in her hand to the other hand gliding down the jumpsuit zipper and back to her eyes, which continued to bore into him.

Pyro released the zipper when it was down to her waist revealing her fitted white tank top beneath (Spy let out an audible groan). She put the cigarette between her lips and took her arms out of the jumpsuit before reaching into a hidden pocket of the suit to pull out a red butane lighter. Pyro flipped open the cover and flicked the strike, and brought the flame to the tip of the cigarette. Holding the cigarette between her index and middle fingers she inhaled, then brought it away from her mouth and leisurely blew a cloud of white smoke into Spy's face.

The Frenchmen did a poor job of restricting an undulating shiver.

"I'm hoping you're the right man I should be looking to for answers," Pyro said silkily, feeling completely disgusted with herself.

"Truth be told, mi amour, I am ze right man for _anyzhing_ you need," Spy replied, his grin spread ear to ear.

Pyro took another puff of the cigarette. She felt like a whole different person. Never in her life had she thought she'd ever snoop so low as to try and seduce someone to get what she wanted.

"Then you'll know why Medic is lying to get me away from Engineer." Pyro figured that Medic was most likely not lying at all, but simply not willing to tell her anything. If she suggested to Spy that she thought their Doctor was lying, then perhaps he would set her straight and tell her the truth to get on her good side. Of course, he could always just lie to discredit Medic and not share the correct information anyway.

Spy rested his hand on his chin thoughtfully, still keeping his eye on Pyro. "'E iz afraid. Afraid zhat you might get yourself hurt."

Pyro tilted her head inquisitively, "He's afraid that Engineer might break my heart then?"

The Frenchmen smiled weakly and bowed his head, "I do wish zhat was ze situation. Ze truth iz much darker zhan mere heart sickness."

"So," Pyro began, "how exactly would Engineer hurt me?"

"May I ask, mon cheri, 'ow well do you know Engineer?"

"Not well at all," Pyro frowned, "I've only been able to speak to any of you for a few weeks. I'm afraid I've hardly had any conversations with anyone."

Spy nodded. "'Ow about at ze gazerings; Christmas? New Year? 'Ave you ever heard him speak about hiz family or past?"

Pyro thought carefully trying to recall any instance where she'd overheard Engineer talk about his history, and came up blank. It was odd, considering she could remember everyone else, even Heavy going on about what they did before joining BLU.

"No, I can't say that I've ever heard him talk about his former life."

"'Eet iz a difficult story to tell, considering eet iz not mine, and ze records of which 'ave mostly been kept away from me. Give me some time to gazzer information so you can understand correctly. I would advise you, mon amour, zhat you do heed Medic's warning, and do not leave yourself alone wiz Engineer until you know 'oo you are dealing wiz."


	17. Eavesdropping

**Message from Dreadd: HI ^.^ **

**Thanks again for all of the reviews ^.^ It gives me a tingly warm fuzzy feeling, like right after you kritzkreig a Heavy and he mows down 10 people. YAY ^.^**

**Jazzilla: I didn't like the BLU suits in Prisoner of BLU originally, they felt hollow and fake. I paid so much attention to Soldier that I didn't realize I was fluffing out the BLU guys. **

**Aries LT: There will be more Soldier flashbacks, yes ;D I figured there will be many ways to look into the characters past. He has a lot of crazy stories to tell.**

* * *

Engineer awoke with his head on the armory workbench. A scattering of tiny springs, wires and metal plates came into focus as he opened his eyes. It wasn't often that he fell asleep while working, and blamed his tinted goggles instead of overworking himself. It was easily to fall asleep when the world was already comfortably dim.

It had been a late night tinkering with Spy's invisibility watch, which proved to be only a slight challenge. The most difficult part was disabling the self cloaking mechanism that triggered after about a minute after its owner removed it. Not wanting to ask for assistance, Engineer covered the watch with diluted oil so he could see the device, and went to work.

It only took a night for him to figure out how exactly the watch functioned. Using a miniature nuclear power cell, the watch would release a laser through the back panel that spread throughout the material it laid upon, bending light around the material making whatever it touched appear invisible. However, it seemed to react poorly to Engineer's own clothes, only making his hand disappear when he activated it. Engineer figured it must be Spy's specially tailored suits that cause a more extensive reaction. The laser could easily fill small gaps, such as the gap between the end of Engineer's glove and his rolled up sleeve five inches above it, but failed if it had nothing to jump to within six inches or more. It made sense why Spy wore a mask on the battlefield.

To overcome his lack of conductive material, he increased the battery power one-hundred fold by wiring a twenty-pound sentry battery to the nuclear power cell. It was easier done than said, oddly enough. Two hours worth of theory on a chalkboard only constituted a half an hour of actual work.

The most surprising discovery Engineer found was that the bands of the watch held a device completely separate from the cloaking mechanism. It ran on the same power source, but had nothing to do with the watches purpose. The strange addition consisted of a small wire the size of the head of a pin, connected to a tiny box and then a roundish, flat black disk that protruded from the band covering.

Soon after Engineer had removed the device to look into it, he laid his chin on the table, observing it and thinking on where to start, sleep quickly took him over.

Engineer rose from his workbench, upset with himself for having overslept. He had plans today, and those plans depended on him beginning the day at 4:30am and not 7:52am. He could sort out the strange device later.

He grinned, thinking of the look on Pyro's face when he would show her the new and improved invisibility watch. He could sneak up behind her, grab her shoulders and – no, he'd get a broken face if he did that. Engineer pondered on how to tell Pyro as he showered, finally deciding to write her a note and sneak it under her door. That was probably the safest way.

Once he was dressed in a brand new uniform, Engineer scribbled out a message onto a sheet of paper and folded it into a square, adorning it with Pyro's name and stuffed it into a pocket in his overalls.

With the watch around his wrist and the battery in a messenger's bag he'd borrowed from Scout's supply locker, Engineer shiftily made his way through the base headed to Pyro's dorm.

It was an odd feeling to be invisible. Engineer was careful to maneuver himself around Heavy as he rummaged through the cabinets of the kitchen, humming cheerfully. The most difficult part was opening doors without being noticed. Even if someone did see a door open and close on its own, they'd suspect Spy before anyone else. The problem with this was that when questioned, Engineer fully expected that Spy would tell everyone that Engineer had an invisibility watch, which could only result in trouble.

A few feet away from the double swinging doors, Engineer waited patiently until someone came into the kitchen. Demoman soon entered, looking uncharacteristically bright and sober for nine in the morning. Engineer slipped through the closing doors, the voices of Demoman and Heavy faded as he crept away from the kitchen.

As Engineer approached the corner to Pyro's hallway, he unmistakably heard a low voice speaking just around the corner.

"_I can't believe I'm doing this."_

Engineer frowned and turned the corner, nearly tumbling over his own feet when he saw Pyro ahead of him in the corridor, standing nervously in front of Spy's personal quarters tying her hair up. Pyro jerked her head toward the sound of Engineer's falter, causing him to freeze in terror.

What was Pyro doing visiting Spy so early in the morning, or visiting him at all for that matter? Engineer watched as the only female on the team knocked on the Frenchmen's door.

Engineer inched forward, careful to make as little noise as possible.

Spy's door cracked open. _"What do you—"_

Suddenly, the door slammed shut. Pyro did not look happy.

"_Oh, c'mon,"_ Pyro grumbled. Engineer watched her bang on the door with her fist. _"I've got something important to ask you, goddamnit."_

_She must really need to talk to him,_ Engineer thought bitterly.

By now, Engineer had slinked his way down the corridor so he was only about ten feet away from Pyro. She wore her jumpsuit but had left the mask behind. Engineer wondered why.

When the door opened again it opened fully, revealing Spy with his normal, smug grin. Engineer's eyes narrowed and he bit his tongue.

"_Ma douce fleur, what brings you to visit me so early in ze day?"_

"_Stuff it, Frenchie."_

Engineer looked on as Pyro pressed into the room, pushing Spy out of her way. He felt his stomach burning with anger and jealously that she had touched him.

"_I love a woman 'oo takes control," _Engineer heard Spy say as he quickly shut the door and locked it.

Engineer's clenched his fists. He felt the overwhelming urge to charge through the door and beat the daylights out of that cowardly, repulsive Frenchmen. Engineer couldn't help but believe that Spy was going to somehow take advantage of Pyro. Or maybe she was there because she really wanted to be, because she wanted something from him. She did say she had something to ask him. She still didn't seem too happy to see Spy, which made Engineer feel a little less cross.

With his hands over the messenger's bag carrying the sentry battery, Engineer tiptoed to Spy's door. Disregarding the voice of his conscience telling him that eavesdropping was wrong, he removed his hard-hat and carefully pressed his ear to the thick steel door, straining to hear the voices within.

"_You are so beautiful. But of course, you are well aware."_

Engineer extracted his hear from the door quickly, the taste of blood filled his mouth as he bit down on his tongue.

_No no no, this isn't happening. I've just got it all wrong, they can't be… They can't be doing anything…_

Again Engineer apprehensively pressed his head to the door,

"…_I'm doing it because I have to."_

The sound of a chair on wheels rolled quickly, followed by Spy's voice. _"What do you want to know about our hard-headed friend?"_

Engineer furrowed his brow, wondering who they might be talking about. Heavy was pretty hard-headed, and so was Demoman. Could she be asking advice on one of them? What kind of information could she be looking for behind their backs?

Steadying himself, Engineer quieted his mind and again focused on the muffled voices.

"_You told ze Doctor about ze little flowers Engineer crafted, and Medic told you zhat Engineer iz dangerous."_

Engineer's eyes widened, they were talking about _him. _Again he pulled his ear from the door, pressing his eyes shut with frustration. He knew he shouldn't be listening in on their conversation; it'd only caused grief so far.

_There's nothing good that could come from this. I should just slip the note under Pyro's door like I planned on doing and head back to the armory, and wait. I'll act like none of this ever happened. None of it happened… I'll just forget it all._

He argued with himself, trying to pull himself away from the door completely, unable to do so. A moment later he forced his ear on the door again.

"'_Ow far down do zhey go? Ze scars, I mean."_

Engineer ran his hands through his hair and before he knew it, he was pulling at it and grinding his teeth, his stomach turning over itself.

_Stop listening! _He yelled inwardly, his heart pounding in his chest. Finally Engineer collected enough strength to pry himself away from Spy's door, and began walking quickly back to the armory.

_Wait, no, what if I've got this all wrong, what if I've just heard the worst of the conversation and it's nothing at all of what it seems to be… _He looked longingly at Spy's door.

The devious side of Engineer convinced the whole of him that he must continue to listen. He had to have answers, he had to know if Pyro was seeing Spy, and what Pyro felt she couldn't ask him herself and had to resort to asking Spy instead. There must be a rational explanation that didn't involve Pyro seeing Spy.

A new self-assurance within him, Engineer walked back to Spy's dorm and took a deep breath, preparing himself for what he might or might not hear.

For a moment, he heard nothing. No voices or shuffling, but then as his heartbeat slowed and he could no longer hear it hamming through his ears, he heard something very faint. It sounded like consistent dull clicking. Engineer's eyes grew wide; it was the sound of the zipper on the front of Pyro's jumpsuit.

Engineer stumbled backward, his irregular rapid breaths matching his racing heart.

He couldn't remember a time when he'd felt so anxious and self-doubting, full of an unfamiliar burning in the center of his chest that made him grind his teeth to prevent his eyes from tearing. He shakily placed his hard-hat back on his head and uneasily walked to Pyro's door, his eyes still wide, his jaw trembling. He reached into his overall pocket and took out the note he'd written for Pyro, who was now just twenty or so feet away, her jumpsuit probably already discarded on the floor, her body pressed tight against Spy.

Engineer held the note between quavering fingers, trying to figure out why it hurt so much to hold it. Pyro wasn't his, she wasn't anyone's. She's part of the field team, and he'd known her for years but only just recently discovered who she was. It wasn't like Engineer to be irrational, and feeling insecure about a woman who he only just met was completely absurd.

"Hey, Engie. What's going on?" Pyro asked with a smile as she stepped out of Spy's dorm. Spy leaned in the doorway wearing a conceited smirk behind a lit cigarette, giving a slight nod to Engineer who was still standing in front of Pyro's personal quarters.

Pyro wore her jumpsuit. It didn't look any different than before, but then again, why would it? She walked steadily to Engineer, whose grip on the note had tightened.

"Is that a note for me?" Pyro beamed, pausing beside Engineer.

The bitter smell of cigarettes wafted from her breath. Engineer knew that Pyro didn't smoke.

"Are you okay, Engie? You look a little pale."

Engineer crushed the note and stuffed it into his pocket. "S-sorry, w-wrong corridor," he mumbled as he turned his back on Pyro and retreated to his armory in a daze, leaving her alone and confused in the hall.


	18. Experimentation

**HI EVERYONE ^.- Thanks again for the reviews 3 3**

**You are very intuitive Gryphaena, I promise most of your questions will be answered ;D hehehe.**

**I tried my best to capture the essence of a Boston accent. Some words I imagine Scout saying very fast, and I tried to merge them together in hope that they'd work out. They kinda did, I think, at least to me ;p**

**Don't think that I've forgotten to tell you all about Engineer..... He'll probably feel like spilling his guts in the next chapter ;x**

* * *

Sniper poised a pair of slender tweezers inside the narrow mouth of a large glass jug. Inside laid a partially constructed hull of a wooden ship. With his aviator glasses removed and his hat tipped to the back of his head, Sniper gingerly positioned a new panel onto the unfinished battleship hull.

In three hours, the tailor was scheduled to arrive to fit the team for formal attire. Sniper wasn't the only one who was less than enthused. You didn't bring junkyard dogs to a pedigree show, just like you didn't bring trained killers to a fancy company dinner.

"Yo, Snipes! I been lookin' all ova for ya," Scout burst into the reserve armory, the only quiet place that Sniper knew about and Scout, until just then, had not.

"How ya' doin, buddy?" the young man slapped Sniper hard on the back. Sniper didn't flinch and held his tweezers tight. "I'm terribly busy at the moment, haul off, would'ja?" he groaned.

Scout quickly inspected the half constructed ship in a bottle, "How longs'at gonna take?"

Without looking up, Sniper replied dully, "About how long it'll take you to run to Dustbowl and back. Care to race?"

"I could run'at inna _second,"_ Scout snapped his fingers. Sniper rolled his eyes.

For five minutes, Scout meandered along the wall of the reserve armory, examining the various dust coated boxes stacked on the shelves and coming back to Sniper's unhurriedly developing wooden battleship, hovering over his shoulder until Sniper caved in and asked in an irritated tone, "About ready to piss off?"

Scout shrugged, oblivious to his team mate's frustrated disposition and then asked, "So wha'chu thinka this stocka' thing?"

Sniper looked up from his project, "_Stocker _thing? You mean the stockholder's meeting?"

"Yeah yeah, right. Ya think there's gonna be chicks 'ere?"

Sniper shook his head. The last thing he felt like doing was converse with Scout, whom he had little in common with, about an event that held no appeal to him. Sniper couldn't figure out why the youngest man on the team felt it was necessary to constantly annoy everyone, and wished he'd find a hobby.

"Look mate," Sniper reached into his pocket, revealing a bulky folding knife, and then grabbed a large leftover block of wood from his battleship project and shoved them into Scout's hands. "Carve me a sea monster."

Scout frowned, looking from the knife and wood block back to Sniper. "Wha you a wha?"

"_Carve _me a _sea monster _for my _ship_," Sniper pointed animatedly to the partial wooden ship in the jar.

Looking perplexed, Scout mouthed the words "sea monster" a few times before his face lit up knowingly, "Ya mean like'uh shaak?"

"Yeah yeah, go make me a shark," Sniper waved his hand dismissively and turned back to his jar, readying a new plank between his tweezers.

Scout shrugged and flipped open the knife Sniper had given him and began indiscriminately digging the knife into the wood.

For a few seconds Sniper was able to ignore the sounds of rampant scraping and grunts coming from behind him.

"Look," Sniper growled and spun around, taking the knife and somewhat mangled block of wood from Scouts' hands. Without speaking, Sniper illustrated how to hold the knife and then scraped off a few thin sheets from the block with long, smooth cuts and then shoved them back at Scout.

"Go ask Demo about sea monsters. Now bugger off."

"Thanks mate!" Scout shot out before darting from the armory.

Sniper scowled. He really hated it when Scout tried to use his lingo.

* * *

Demoman tipped an amber filled shot glass into his mouth as Engineer placed a red checker pawn atop Medic's surviving checker that had out maneuvered Engineer's complex battle plan.

For his next move, Engineer skipped his black pawn over two of Medic's red pawns, and Heavy gulped two full shot glasses in quick succession, shaking his head before swallowing.

Demoman refilled the shot glasses, lining one up for himself as Medic skipped his pawn over one belonging to Engineer that he'd finally managed to move to one of Medic's back rows.

"Ahh c'mon," Engineer huffed, leaning his chin on his hand and staring at the board, planning his next scheme.

Medic tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, straining to hear what sounded like running. The footfalls gradually amplified, until a blue blur burst through the swinging doors into the common room, stopping abruptly beside the couch where Medic and Heavy sat.

The four men stared at Scout, who stood aloof with a folding knife and mangled block of wood.

"Whazzat nezzie thing look like, D?"

Demoman squinted in Scout's direction as if trying to make out finely printed text from a long distance.

"Didn' I jus tell ye' ta' go tell Sniper ta' get up 'ere?" slurred Demoman.

"Yeah I fah'got. Da sea monstas 'ave big 'eads?" Scout asked, beginning to scrape large uneven chunks from the block of wood.

"Ya forgot?"

"They got scales too right? Like them dinasaua things?" the young man stabbed the block of wood.

"Damnit boy, go get Sniper n'—"

"Yeah I got it pops, Jesus," Scout huffed. "I found em' n'e told me ta make a shaak thing for some boat in a jug," he held up the block of wood that now resembled an oblong pineapple more than a sea creature. Demoman looked at it with his eyebrow raised, and Heavy tilted his head to one side.

"Gah, fah'get-chou guys," he trudged back out of the common area, put out.

Demoman shrugged and turned back to the game between Medic and Engineer.

"You missed three shots," Heavy pointed to the three black checker pawns belonging to Engineer, stacked neatly on Medic's side of the board.

* * *

Scout languidly strolled through the hallway back toward the reserve armory. "Squares," he grumbled, annoyed by his team's arrogance. All he wanted to do was play winner in checker shots, but instead became the errand boy sent out to fetch Sniper so he could be Engineer's partner after Demoman passed out.

The young man dropped the knife into his pocket and threw the block of wood into the air, catching it into his wrapped hands. The last time anyone made him an errand boy, he ended up on the front page of the Boston Globe.

Scout sighed and pushed open the door to the reserve armory and found Sniper packing away his project into small wooden crate. "How's Dustbowl?"

"What? Oh, yeah, great," Scout kicked the armory floor, a small puff of dust rose into the air.

Sniper strapped his kikkuri to his back and carefully picked up the crate as if it were made of eggshells instead of pine.

"They wan'cha at the livin' room."

Sniper nodded and followed Scout, who closed the door behind them. They walked in silence together until Sniper asked without warning, "Got a partner for shots?"

Immediately, Scout's frown turned into a grin, "I could drink Cyclops unna tha table," he stated boldly.

"Right then. I think I'll let'cha play the drinks then," nodded Sniper. It wasn't often that Sniper made a conversation with Scout. He was young and fast and too reckless for the Australian's taste. Sniper enjoyed quiet, tedious work, whereas Scout was always looking for a new thrill or a higher high. Today Scout seemed to be teetering between somber and excessive, which worried him. Sniper had put away Medic's advice that empathy is Achilles' heel of humanity and gave him the chance to be his partner in checker shots, which had an immediate upshot in Scout.

Scout's saunter had turned into a swaggering stride. He stuck his hands into his pockets and grinned. He's been on the edge of depression lately, his mind constantly adhering to a dark pattern of thoughts that he wasn't motivated enough to break out of. For his team's sake and so no one would ask him, he did his best to appear normal. Now as he walked through the hall with Sniper, his mood had lightened by the simple opportunity to have a partner at checker shots, and someone willing to play with him at that. He involuntarily fumbled with Sniper's folding knife in his pocket, eagerly flipping it around and running his fingers across the smooth finished handle.

When his fingers came across a slight ridge in the wood, he picked at it with his short, bitten fingernails until he felt the ridge break loose and pop open.

Scout's eyes went wide realizing he just broken Sniper's knife. He had to duck out and see if he could glue it or something before Sniper asked for it back.

"Be right back," he skipped into the next hallway on the left, "I'll meet'cha there, don't wait up," he said without looking back. Sniper thought nothing of it and continued walking.

"Shit, shit, shit," Scout swore under his breath. He didn't need a reason for Sniper to regret letting him borrow his knife. He stopped and pulled the knife from his pocket, and examined what looked like a secret compartment that he'd unintentionally discovered. Inside was a single white pill.

"Ho-ho!" Scout picked the pill out of the knife and examined it. "Self medicatin' huh?"

There were no letters stamped into tablet, and the knife's secret slot gave no clue as to what it might be.

Scout dabbed the medication on his tongue. No almond flavor, so it wouldn't be a cyanide pill. They were given the option by BLU to carry suicide pills onto the field in the event that they were captured, but those capsules were black, and they hadn't been on the field in weeks.

"Heheh," he chuckled, "Acid?" Scout thought back to his childhood on the street, recalling being offered drinks with crazy names like 'Electric Kool-Aid' and cigarettes that made you feel like jell-o. He'd never actually taken anyone up on drugs, being more partial to coffee (black or Irish, he liked them both), but this was a new era. Tomorrow wasn't a guarantee and planning ahead a year or more was ludicrous. He didn't even know if the Red Sox would win the World Series before his end of tenure at BLU. Now his disposition had changed, and things he would not have considered worth doing were suddenly potential experiences he didn't want to pass up.

Scout looked around deviously. "He shouldn't be the only one to have all the fun," Scout whispered to no one, referring to Sniper.

He popped the mysterious white pill into his mouth and tipped his head back, clicked the knife's compartment closed and returned it to his pocket, then hurried toward the common area for a game of checker shots.


	19. South Side Checkers

**HI ^.^ Thanks again for the reviews!!**

**I'm sorry it's been so long. I had to get to know Scout again. He's one of my favorite characters, I wanted to get him right. Enjoy~**

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* * *

Sniper pulled at his chin, carefully surveying the black and red board in front of him with great interest. Scout imitated him the best he could and sat hunched over with his eyes narrowed.

"Ya'll gonna be all day? I kinda wanted ta get me some lunch before that hokey tailor showed up," Engineer pulled down the glove on his right hand to look at his watch.

According to Medic, Engineer cheated at checkers. With just three pieces against Medic's eight, Engineer had out maneuvered, over planned and bluffed the Doctor into a false sense of security, and just when he thought he'd won the game Engineer jumped all eight red pieces in just two turns.

Medic wasn't the only one exasperated by Engineer's conspiracy; Demoman was upset that he had to give up eight shots to Heavy, who only walked away with a slight buzz.

"Quiet Truckie, I'm tryin' to think," Sniper removed his aviator glasses and rubbed his eyes.

Engineer grinned and leaned back on the couch beside Demoman, who held his brown jug in one hand and an empty shot glass in the other, eagerly awaiting the Aussies' next move.

Sniper sighed and made a point to try and appear pensive. He really didn't care a whole lot about checker shots. He also didn't see why he should be bothered to play a game where the only point was to get as shitfaced at possible when he hated being drunk.

The team was getting bored, losing their concentration, their creativity. Games like this attested to that. They _should _be doing something productive, keeping themselves sharp for their next campaign instead of adding nonsensical rules and regulations to checkers and Parcheesi that integrated alcohol. Sniper remembered to grind his teeth, a bad habit he knew he did when lost in thought, then choose a checker at random and skipped it over one of Engineers.

Engineer grinned; delighted that Sniper had been lured into his trap. As soon as Sniper painstakingly placed his checker in the center of its designated black square, Engineer promptly jumped it and two others.

"Give em' a shot, will ya?" Sniper growled to Demoman who begrudgingly filled Scout's shot glass to the brim and pushed it across the table.

Scout downed the drink and scoffed, "Whas this shit, water? Hi'me with sommin' stronga."

Demoman raised his eyebrow, but it was Engineer who first spoke, "That's moonshine, boy, harder than grain alcohol an' I think ya' mighta had enough if you're thinkin' that ain't strong anymore."

"Pssh, I'm Italian, it's in mah blood," Scout flaunted has he flipped the shot glass around in his hand.

Engineer shrugged and Demoman poured Scout another drink.

Scout downed his fifth shot of the game and slammed his glass down onto the table with a _thunk._

Sniper stared vacantly into the checkered board. Scout drank quite often, not nearly as much as Demoman but still more frequently than he thought a boy of twenty-three should. It couldn't be easy for someone as young as Scout to kill for a living, and maybe the alcohol helped him cope but there was something off putting about a boy so young who found a thrill in sprinting about with a sawed-off shotgun and aluminum bat, darting past men launching grenades and through the line of sight of opposing snipers and mini-gun fire.

"Thinkin' on this one hard, eh? Well I'll let you cap a few if it makes ya feel better," Engineer grinned.

Sniper darted his eyes to each piece on the board. The whole team knew from experience that Engineer was terrible at bluffing. When they got together to play Texas Hold'em, Engineer was always the first to throw down the cards in frustration and retreat to his armory to figure out why he failed so terribly at a simple card game. Unbeknownst to him, Engineer could never hide his conviction despite his shaded goggles. So now, while the Texan's confident grin sold him out, Sniper only became more desperate to end the game.

The black-cat clock in the kitchen shifted its eyes left and right, a faint clicking sound emitted from it with each swish of its tail permanently s-shaped tail. Scout watched the cat's eyes rock back and forth.

Scout slouched into the soft couch cushions and sighed. He tried not to focus on the hollow feeling in his chest. This place was great and all; BLU was the closest thing he had to a family other than his blood relatives. In fact, he figured he trusted them more than his actual family. At least they would stand up for him.

All the pieces were there, but there was something very important missing in his life. Scout equated it to having an entire Thanksgiving dinner without cranberry sauce. He closed his eyes and pictured Pyro in a blue plaid summer dress, and grinned. He missed the comfort of a woman. He missed his mother.

Scout opened his eyes and shook his head. Thinking about inaccessible luxuries only made the end of daydreams more sorrowful. Still, the thought of having a girl to talk to was difficult to disregard.

* * *

_A not much younger looking Scout wound his bat with his right arm and used his left to point toward the distant horizon. The kids arranged around the makeshift baseball diamond in the middle of 19__th__ street laughed. _

_The opposing pitcher, a black-haired Jewish boy twisted his arm and readied the pitch, and in one swift motion, the worn-out ball launched from his fingers and sped toward Scout. _

_The best sound in the world was the fleeting _crack _of a wooden bat whacking against baseball. Just as Scout predicted, the ball was sent soaring into the distance. The encircling children watched their now hopelessly lost baseball fly for the last time._

"_Nice goin' jerk," a red-haired boy spat in an Irish accent._

"_Who invited the Guido?" the Jewish pitcher growled as he threw his mitt across the street into the brick wall of a towering apartment complex._

_Scout grinned and handed the bat to a thunderstruck child whose only response was to continue gawking. As the assembly dispersed, Scout strolled down 19__th__ street waiting for trouble, or anything exciting to find him. He grinned to himself when two pretty girls his age sauntered out of the soda shop on the next corner._

_Not five minutes after he struck the baseball into oblivion, Scout's youngest older brother caught him up from behind, stammering what sounded like nonsense and huffing every word. Scout reluctantly watched the girls disappear around the next block as his brother wheezed and gasped beside him, trying to speak. _

"_Come. Fast. Hotel. Grand. Ave."_

_He'd be a splitting image of Scout if it weren't for the hazel eyes._

"_What's goin' down?" Scout asked uninterestingly. It wasn't often that any of his seven older brothers asked him for anything. And if they did, it was a ploy to use him as a scapegoat. _

"_They were. Strippin' coppa' pipes," his brother paused to lean forward in attempt to better catch his breath. "Got caught. I heard 'em yellin'."_

"_Pssh," Scout dismissed his brother with a wave and turned away, hoping the girls weren't too far ahead. This was just another opportunity to bury him in punishment that wasn't his._

"_Fer real!" his brother gasped, grabbing Scout by the shoulder and spun him back to yell at him, "You gotta come quick."_

"_I ain't no fall guy bro, go find yuh'self a schmuck n' tha' east side," Scout shoved his brother away and continued walking. _

"_There some punks up there just askin' for a beatin'!" his older brother whispered, "I promise you'll get a hit in bro, it was just three of us, swear ta' God."_

_Scout looked askance at his brother and then back to the street he was heading to, trying to decide if he should use this Sunday to chat up two pretty girls or follow his brother to beat up a few chump trouble makers._

_

* * *

_

"Scout," Sniper lightly kicked Scout's shin. "Scout, wake up."

"'EEEY! Pyro's naked!" Demoman shouted at Scout, whose eyes flew open in surprise.

"Wha!" to Scout's express disappointment, Pyro wasn't even in the room, never mind without clothes.

Engineer snickered and Sniper shrugged. Demoman lined up two shots for Scout, who drank them as soon as he realized they were his.

The game continued, and after a few minutes after his fifth shot, Scout's attentiveness evaporated and he lay back to let his mind wander again. For some reason, he felt incredibly relaxed. Scout closed his eyes and felt each strand of every muscle tranquilize, until he couldn't tell whether or not he even had muscles.

* * *

_The only good thing about jail was that you could get some goddamn sleep. So naturally when Scout spent the night at the local Pig pen, he took the opportunity to catch up on some much needed uninterrupted slumber. Once again his brothers had ratted him out for something that he didn't do, and his lengthy police record got a few paragraphs longer._

_Well, he actually did do it, but they didn't know for sure and he didn't admit to or say a word to anyone. It was pretty obvious, and Scout had no one to blame but himself for his hastily executed misdemeanor._

_The liquor store a block away from their humble abode on 15__th__ street was found with the front window smashed to bits, and a grand of liquor mysteriously absent. _

_Scout rolled over on his stiff mattress and sighed. He could have found a better place to hide four crates of distilled vodka and a half-crate of top shelf Irish whisky, but he was drunk at the time and the rain catchbasin a few houses away from his seemed as good a place as any. _

_What did his brothers have that he didn't? What was he missing? He was crafty, smart, an excellent liar. He attended church with his mother every Sunday and made sure he only smashed the faces of punks who deserved it. Scout figured that God wouldn't be as pissed at him as long as he didn't pick on little kids and old people. Everyone else pretty much deserved whatever they had coming to them, especially if they did something to aggravate his brothers._

_He was faster and more agile than his older siblings; that he made sure of. He was sick of being the last one to the fray. It was never any fun to beat a guy that his brothers already put down._

_So now he had a load of things going for him. He was faster, more cunning and a louder provoker. He wasn't the biggest, but he didn't need bulky muscles to slow him down. _

_One thing he didn't want to admit about himself was his competency at mental acrobatics. He could find a logical reason to do anything. Anyone could do it; they just had to be desperate enough to find the right way of thinking. _

_His brothers were jealous of him. That's why they said nothing when the boys in blue accused him of robbing the liquor store. It wasn't enough for him to prove that he was competent face breaker to his brothers; he had to out-do them in every way possible. He couldn't just be competent; he had to be superior above all of them. By not defending him they were letting him know he wasn't worthy enough to stick their necks out for._

_Scout launched himself from his jail bed and wrung his arms around the steel cage. "Whuts a guy gotta do ta' get somethin'a eat?" The guards were mostly gone, no one replied to him. _

_He didn't feel like sleeping. He felt like destroying something, or better yet, someone. Before he could do that however, he'd have to produce a get out of jail free card. For that to happen, he had to start talking._

_

* * *

_

"Alky's really got to him, didn' it?" commented Sniper as he took the third drink meant for his checker shots partner.

"I ain't never seen 'em this out," Engineer replied.

"Let's strap 'im to a gurney 'an push 'im down the barracks!"

Engineer and Sniper turned to look curiously at Demoman who was grinning drunkenly and pouring himself yet another shot even though Sniper hadn't captured one of Engineer's pawns for about ten minutes.

"I'unno," Engineer began, his eyes falling back on Scout who had begun to twitch, his face contorting slightly and then relaxing repeatedly, "We ought a write on 'em instead."

Sniper broke out into laughter, clearly not expecting Engineer to agree with Demoman's precarious nature.

* * *

"_Not so tough now are ya? Are ya?!" Scout shouted at the limp body of a thug who, unfortunate for him, decided to badmouth his new employer._

_A month after weaseling himself out of jail for robbing the liquor store, a new opportunity presented itself in the form of a sharply dressed middle-aged businessman._

_Of course, Scout knew he wasn't a businessman. Well-to-do bankers didn't have scarred knuckles and a nose broken so many times it was permanently crooked. _

_It was impossible for Scout to refuse his offer. One-hundred dollars for each thug he put in the hospital. Five-hundred for every gangster he sent to an early grave. Hell, this guy even promised to get him out of jail if he got caught doing his dirty work, but Scout was confident he'd never need it. He didn't make careless mistakes anymore._

_Once a month his boss met with him in secret to give him the names of the guys he wanted taken care of, along with the payment for his most recent successful assignments. _

"_I don't give a damn what ya do with the bodies, just don't get caught."_

_The best thing about his new job was that his mother was happy. He was only completely persuaded he'd done the right thing when his mother thanked him with tears in her eyes for being such a wonderful, well-behaved son, supporting the whole family by himself._

_Her heart would shatter if she knew he was a hired hitman and not the Boston Red Sox's bat boy._

_

* * *

_

"Shh! Shh," Demoman bit his lip and stifled his laughter, quietly unscrewing the cap of a black ink marker.

Engineer tip-toed behind the couch where Scout slept, grabbing a pillow in each hand and slowly put Scout's head between them.

"You blokes are crazy, I'm not gonna be here when he wakes up n' finds you doin' this," Sniper whispered, unable to hide the smile on his face as he retreated to the kitchen portion of the common area attempting to look unconnected to his mischievous team mates.

Sniper lowered the brim of his hat over his eyes and focused on the newspaper, trying to ignore the drunken giggling and squeaky marker sounds, trying not to laugh out loud himself. He honestly couldn't wait to see and hear Scout's reaction, but didn't want to be part of it all the same.

"Okay, okay, let's put stuff in 'is pockets," Engineer muffled his laugh with his gloved hand, tears rolling down his cheeks watching Demoman sticking out his tongue in concentration while delicately removing the objects in Scout's pockets while Engineer scavenged the common area for random objects.

"No no no, you do it," Engineer snickered and handed Demoman five assorted checkers, the remote control to the television, a shot glass and three mint candies. In return, Demoman passed over a bulky folding knife and some wood shavings to Engineer, who after looking at the shavings curiously, tossed them over Scout's head like confetti and had to resort to biting his own tongue to mute his laughter.

Sniper shook his head and grinned. "Had enough fun then?" he said as Engineer, red faced and still chuckling silently sat down beside him at the kitchen table.

"Ahhh, that was entertaining," mused Engineer, setting the folding knife from Scout's pocket onto the table.

"Oi," Sniper pointed to the knife on the table, "Thanks mate."

Sniper picked up the knife to replace it on his belt, stopping midway to examine it. Something didn't feel quite the same. He ran his fingers over the wood grain handle. The hidden compartment felt elevated.

Sniper's eyes grew wide as he turned his head toward Scout, still passed out on the couch as Demoman roughly cut away uneven chunks of his hair.


	20. I Come From A Land Down Under

"Stop, wait, Demo," Sniper held onto his hat as he shoved through the double doors and jogged to catch up to Demoman, still dragging Scout down the long hallway.

"Whaaat?!" Demoman cried out, releasing Scout's wrists and dropping him to the floor. Sniper cringed at the sound of Scout's head as it hit the cement-backed linoleum.

"Where you goin' with him?"

"I'us gunna bring 'im down to th' infirm n' strap 'im ta--" Demoman stumbled and looked down the split hallway junction. He squinted at Sniper and cocked his toes inward to help stabilize him.

"Why you care wha I do wif'em?" Demoman crossed his arms.

"I don't," Sniper held up his hands in self defense. Demoman eyed him suspiciously.

"You know, I think there's someone on base who could carry Scout for you, so you could get him to the infirm a lot faster," Sniper explained slowly.

"Tha' crazy Yankee bastid?" Demoman slurred, referring to Soldier.

"No," Sniper pressed his eyes shut. He hated dealing with drunks. "Heavy. Go get Heavy."

Demoman stood straight and thought for a long second, looking from Scout to the hallway and back to Sniper before nodding furiously.

"Smart man," Demoman shook a finger at Sniper and staggered back toward the common area, tripping over his clunky, untied boots.

Sniper sighed with relief. Heavy was most likely in his room on the other side of the base which gave him enough time to carry Scout to the infirmary before Demo or Heavy got back. Sniper grabbed Scout by the arm and heaved him over his right shoulder.

"Oof, I think you weigh more than I do."

Impending doom took longer to sink into Sniper's thick skin than any normal person. Now, as he crept along the hall carrying his unconscious and vandalized team mate, he could only think of how great it would be to be sitting down with a coffee and the newspaper instead of lugging his absent minded coworker to the infirmary.

And to think that lunatic Soldier thought he poisoned a perfectly good pot of delicious black coffee. Sniper scoffed.

Sniper figured Ms. Blu didn't believe that he _really _poisoned the coffee, or else he'd be the one getting a psych evaluation and not Soldier. Still, it would look pretty bad if she found out that he was responsible for Scout having lysergic acid diethylamide and ketamine in him after the coffee incident.

Sniper shook his head. He couldn't be a pessimist, not now. No one would find out that Scout had anything unusual in his system. He'd make sure of it. Sniper stopped in the middle of the hallway, suddenly realizing how foolish it would be to bring Scout to the only person who'd know how to test his blood.

He couldn't bring him to his veranda either. Demoman was the last person to see him with Scout and would more than likely search his personal quarters.

Sniper turned away from the direction of the infirmary. He had to bring Scout somewhere out of the way, mildly sound proof and kept locked. Somewhere nobody had business to look. Sniper turned away from the infirmary and began trudging toward the boiler room.

* * *

_Scout sat with his back straight and head up, willing his eyelids to stay open. He pinched the tender muscle between his thumb and index finger in an effort to make himself as uncomfortable as possible, but even feeble self torment and unpleasantly rigid church pews were no match for forty-eight sleepless hours tugging him toward the potential bliss of a long overdue slumber._

_He half-heartedly repeated hymns and followed the lead of his mother when it was time to kneel, to stand, to bow his head in silence and try not to snore. _

_Someone was watching him, even now, during Sunday morning Mass. They followed him when he left home in the morning to meet up with is brothers. They tracked him as he zigzagged through the crowd at the disco when he tried to lose them. They watched his house when he came in at night, and somehow knew when he used the fire escape in the cover of darkness to try and be rid of them. _

_What bothered Scout the most is that they weren't even cops. They were probably the cronies of some other crime family that was sick of finding their buddies at the bottom of the harbor wearing a pair of cement shoes, or in their cars in the center of a corn field with their heads batted in._

_Cops with paychecks and families he could deal with. Violent criminals with personal vendettas against him were a whole different ballgame. _

_He'd have to find a way to eliminate the sleuths. For now the only thing he could do was act like a law-abiding, well-behaved church-going momma's boy and watch his back at all times._

* * *

Sniper leaned Scout's limp body against the wall next to the door labeled "Boiler Room" and retrieved the knife – the same one that got Scout into this mess – from his belt loop. He slid the blade between the door and the lock, and the door popped open.

A heavy, warm breeze flooded into the cool hallway. Consecutive vertical orange stripes shimmered and rolled against the dreary cinder block walls. The burnt out light fixture swung lazily from the cathedral ceiling. Four massive boilers sat atop a colossal coal furnace with two slotted iron hatchways where the concentrated blaze radiated the cramped space. Sniper unceremoniously dragged Scout inside and propped him in a sitting position against the corner opposite the furnace.

Sniper removed his hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. It wasn't exactly the most soothing place to awaken from a drug induced coma, but it was the only place he could be sure no one would go looking for Scout. The maintenance man came on Sundays to refuel the incinerator, and Sniper was relatively positive that he was the only one that had the key.

He studied Scout slouched limp in the corner. Demoman had cut off significant patches of hair in no particular pattern. More than half of his face was covered in thick black scribbles, including the entirety of his eyelids and crude drawings of male anatomy on his forehead that would be completely hilarious if it wasn't his responsibility to get it all off before the tailor arrived.

* * *

"_I have never been so embarrassed in my entire life! Do you know how terrible that is, to fall asleep at church?! It's practically a sin!"_

_Scout's mom pulled roughly on her sons' ear, wrenching him down to her height as she dragged him the four blocks from church back to their home._

"_I said I was sorry Ma!"_

"_Sorry isn't going to save you from the thrashing you're gonna get!"_

"_Aww jeeze Ma c'mon people are startin' ta stare," Scout whined as he unsuccessfully tried to cover his face with his baker boy hat._

"_You are so lucky your grandmother isn't alive to watch you napping in church! Why, I have half a mind to—"_

_Scout had to jump backward to avoid plowing into his mother, who had stopped dead just as they turned the corner to their apartment complex._

"_Half a mind ta what, Ma?" Scout complained, his head still twisted to one side unable to see what was ahead of them._

_Without saying a word, Scout's mother released his ear. Scout took the opportunity to leap out of arms reach of his mother and put his hat back on, then massage the right side of his head._

_Scout followed his mother's eyes to the stoop of their apartment complex, where two policemen were interviewing one of their neighbors._

_Scout's mother pursed her lips and marched toward the police. It took Scout a few seconds to realize he wasn't breathing. _

_The police were at his house, which meant that one of his brothers did something stupid. Again. Right? There was no way they were here for _him. _He'd been careful, planning every move and leaving no evidence, staying out of trouble for the past two weeks._ _Scout jogged to catch up with his mother, mentally preparing his rehearsed alibis and best look of innocence._

"_Ma'am, we're here for your youngest son. We just want to ask him a few questions."_

* * *

Sniper fetched a canteen of water and smelling salts from the supply closet beside the infirmary. He knelt down and set the water next to Scout, broke open the salts and waved them under Scout's nose.

The young man snorted and blinked wildly, looking around and backing himself into the tight corner. Scout's heart sped up to where he thought it might explode.

Constantly morphing golden veins wrapped around the glimmering crimson-scaled walls. A scaly black cable hung from the endlessly high ceiling, oscillating a mammoth bladed pendulum that threatened to plummet with every uncertain swing. Scout let out a shrill choke when his eyes landed upon four towering Iron Maidens whose succubus grins revealed jagged incisors that dripped with the blood of their captives. The Maidens stood upon a stage of fire, where within the barred confines the damned crawled over molten coals, their blackened skin constantly licked by uncompassionate flames, their screams muffled to hisses and snaps behind sewn-shut lips. The figure of a demon shimmered into existence and knelt before him.

Its obsidian eyes bored into him. It was tall and lanky, its extremities abnormally long, wrapped in blue flames and dark leather. A broad glowing crown wrapped with teeth adorned its head. Scout cowered into himself.

Sniper put a hand on Scout's shoulder and gently shook him, "Hey, hey. Relax. Alright? You'll be bonzer in no time."

"Ohh shit, God! God I am _so _fuckin' sorry fer all the bad shit I done! I mean, I'm not _fuckin' _sorry I'm just _sorry. _I won't cuss no more n' I won't kill nobody either," Scout's voice shook as he made the sign of the cross with a trembling hand, avoiding Sniper and looking up to the ceiling

"P-Please don't send me ta' hell God, I was gunna change I just didn't know how!" stuttered Scout, his hands clutched together in a praying position.

Sniper cocked his head to one side and squinted. What the hell was Scout going on about?

"Okay God, I did it – I killed those twenny-nine guys but I did it cuz I had ta! I didn't confess cuz I didn' wanna break mah mom's heart! But I did it n' I'm so fuckin' sorry. Err, I'm _so _sorry God. Please!"

"Hey, Scout, snap out of it," Sniper snapped his fingers in front of his team mate's petrified grimace.

Scout seized his ears and screamed, "Stop it, stop! Oh, man I fucked up good this time."

Sniper frowned. The drug must have had a powerful effect on Scout. This was worse than Sniper had imagined. He wouldn't be able flush his system of the drug in less than an hour, and there was no way he could get him out to get fit by the tailor without being asked to explain why he was confessing his life sins and praying to God every time someone confronted him.

"Hey," Sniper nudged Scout, "Do you know who I am?"

"Jesus Christ, the devil is Australian?! Get the fuck away! I'll take you down with me if you get any closer!" Scout swung at Sniper as hard as he could, then retreated back to his corner and readied his fists.

Sniper fell backwards from his kneeling position and caught himself with his hands before he hit the floor. He cradled his jaw with one hand. Scout may be hallucinating beyond belief but that didn't stop him from wanting to beat anything that looked threatening.

Somehow he had to scrub Scout's face clean of the black marker, shave his entire head, convince him he wasn't in hell and then get him stable enough to walk himself to the tailor and get fit for formal attire all without getting injured in the process or letting anyone find out that he was hallucinating after swallowing a drug that Sniper wasn't even supposed to have in the first place.

Sniper sighed and sat on the floor with his legs folded, watching Scout watching him and every so often peering beyond his shoulder to the furnace with the same horror-struck expression he had after he asked Ms. Blu about raises and Heavy said she was thinking of ways to kill him.

He couldn't get him washed up in this state. Sniper used his knees for support to push himself off the floor. Scout watched him through broad, dilated pupils. Sniper removed his hat and brushed back his short damp hair. It was at least ninety degrees in the boiler room; Scout wouldn't last a long time without water, he was already dehydrated from drinking so much. Sniper sighed. It was a mistake to wake him up.

He needed chloroform to knock him out cold again. He'd just tell everyone that Scout drank too much and he'd passed out, which _was _true. He'd still have to remove the marker and shave his head. He didn't want Ms. Blu knowing anything about their drinking to excess before noon, especially on a day where they were supposed to be on their most restricted behavior for an outside hire. It would look bad for Scout and particularly Demoman.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," Sniper explained very slowly and held up five fingers. "Five minutes."

The hellion levitated its glowing tooth-crown revealing hundreds of tiny, thin snakes slithering below. It growled something and held up its clawed hand. Scout tried to remain still, though his heart beat so quickly he felt it reverberate throughout his entire body. The demon was leaving. Cold air rushed into the room as it used its inhuman strength to burst open a wall in the rock. Scout crawled on the floor, trying to get a glimpse of the white, refreshing world outside, but before he could see it too clearly or breathe any of the thirst-quenching draft, the demon fused the gateway shut with its magic.


	21. Mistaken Identity

**Hai everybody ;) I hath return-ed. I must apologize for being so late on this post. I usually have a few chapters already written, and when I get 3-4 chapters ahead of the next to-be-posted chapter, I post that chapter. Now I'm about six chapters ahead. Woo!**

**I sort of lost contact with my editor. He usually goes over my stuff, highlights the blatant mispellings and terribad gremmar, and gives me a piece of candy for being so dilligent. **

**Heed thine wharning, teh Mecrosawft Werd doesn't fix slippery-keyboard syndrome and those moments where I can't figure out why it's underlined an entire paragraph in green and suggests I rewrite it without giving me a reason. It's too much like my high school English teacher, so I ignore it after ten minutes of intense pondering.**

**Much loves,**

**Dreadd**

**PS-- If you ordered L4D2 you get an awesome hat in TF2. Henceforth, I think Soldier is ten times more sexy than he was previously.**

* * *

Pyro dug through her closet, haphazardly tossing items piled behind the door into a towering mess in the center of the room. As Ms. Blu explained, a tailor would be coming today to fit them for formal wear, the cost of which they had to pay for personally. Not wanting to put forth her hard earned cash, she dug through her closet in hopes of finding something relatively appropriate.

Most of the closet consisted of half-full oxygen tanks, spare parts to flame throwers and a pair of rusty fire axes (Pyro grinned when she found these, thinking back to Engineer and Demoman wrestling in the hallway). As for clothing, she'd discovered a brand new pair of asbestos lined boots that were a half size too large and one melted glove.

It'd been three years (almost four, she reminded herself) since she'd been hired as a pyro technician by Builders League United. The only thing she'd brought to the base was a backpack full of personal clothing, but for the life of her couldn't recall what had happened to it. She'd been provided white boxers, undershirts, socks and some generic men's clothing (it would be suspicious if anyone found women's clothes being sent through the laundry service) and hadn't the need to wear anything she brought.

Pyro stood up and shook her head back and forth, whipping around her damp hair. Despite only wearing a tank top and boxers she'd broken a sweat while clearing out the unpromising, endless depths of her closet.

Yesterday Spy had advised against her visiting Engineer, and so far she'd heeded his warning. She felt strange taking Spy's word over Medic's, but Spy had given her a halfway decent explanation where Medic had not.

She hadn't even spoken to Medic since their scuffle yesterday, and figured that he probably didn't want to see her. Pyro supposed she'd apologize when the tailor arrived and they were brought out to the common area to get measured. Then again, that probably wasn't a very tactful idea to bring up his being kneed in the crotch in front of the entire team. Hopefully she could catch Medic in the infirmary before seeing the tailor, and get out an apology.

After another half hour of fruitlessly hunting through her closet, Pyro glanced at the clock on her wall. She groaned and threw on her jumpsuit, sprinting to the infirmary showers to rinse off before making her way to the tailor.

* * *

Sniper stood before the supply closet outside of Medic's office, sorting through each glass bottle and box for chloroform.

"Shonky practice ya got 'ere, Doc," Sniper whispered irritably. Every label was in German. The only way you could tell what the bottle or box was, was by finding the number on the bottle and cross referencing it to a hand-written sheet Medic had pinned to the inside of the supply closet.

"Useful as tits on a bull," Sniper growled as he ran his finger down the supply list, trying to decipher Medic's loopy, illegible scrawl.

About the same time Sniper was ready to give up and call the alarm for Medic, he peeked his head around the supply closet at the sound of someone jogging down the hallway.

"Arvo, Sheila," Sniper greeted as a sweaty looking Pyro slowed to a fast walk.

"It's still eleven-thirty I thought," she said, stopping beside Sniper and catching her breath.

Sniper pushed up his sleeve and checked his watch, "Too right," he commented shortly and continued his search, aware of Pyro leaning over his shoulder.

"Lookin' for something?"

Sniper turned away from the closet, fighting the urge to berate Pyro about minding her own business, when an obscure idea made him stare her down instead, the gears in his mind turning.

Pyro pushed her sweaty hair away from her face and raised an eyebrow, "Last time I saw that look you asked me if I'd flush REDs out of a barn full of hay and kerosene."

Sniper absent mindedly returned the bottle to the supply closet (on the wrong shelf), suddenly fascinated by his only female team mate.

"You look like you could be an angel," he said quietly, looking Pyro over. Scout did have something for Pyro, and it could be advantageous to his current dilemma. If Scout thought he were the devil, perhaps it wouldn't be too farfetched for him to think Pyro were an angel sent to rescue him. He'd be much more manageable.

Sniper blinked himself out of the back of his mind and returned to the hallway in front of Medic's office where he had been inadvertently giving Pyro a peculiar glare.

"Yeeeaah, about that…" Pyro slowly strafed away from Sniper toward the door to the infirmary.

"No no, listen."

"I think I've heard just about enough," Pyro reached into her jumpsuit pocket and pulled out a key, using it to unlock the infirmary door.

"How'd you get a key?" Sniper asked as he shut the supply closet, his full attention on Pyro.

"Where do you think I shower?"

"Good point. Listen, this is gonna to be hard ta' believe, but trust me. It's for Scout's well being. We're strapped for time."

"You've already crossed the line into creep territory. Next stop will be much more painful than a cold shoulder. Best to keep your mouth shut while you're ahead," Pyro explained as she opened the infirmary door enough to wedge herself inside, purposefully making it difficult for Sniper to follow.

Sniper groaned and bit his tongue. He had to say something to get her to listen before she shut the door on him for good.

"I've uhh, well, you see," Sniper removed his hat and fumbled with the brim. "There was this job that I had," he said nervously, diverting his gaze from Pyro who hid the most of her body behind the door, keeping a wide enough opening so her face would fit. She stared at him un-amused.

"I had this job way back when. I'm not proud of it mind you. See I—"

"Are you going to keep stuttering or get to the point?" she glowered impatiently.

"Scout may or may not have swallowed an experimental animal sedative," said Sniper quickly, his teeth clenched.

"You gave Scout an animal sedative," Pyro asked monotonously, her expression unchanged.

"_Experimental _animal sedative--"

Pyro held up her hand and interrupted Sniper to inquire in a stern, accusatory voice inherent to probably every woman, "Did you drug Scout?

"Well, no," he bowed his head, guiltily dissecting the fraying lip of his Panama hat.

"So Scout swallowed it on his own?"

Sniper sighed and pressed his eyes below his glasses, fully aware that Pyro was leading him to indict himself and replied wearily, "Yes."

"Did he know what it was?"

"Pssh of course he didn't know what it was!" Sniper jeered.

"And it was yours?"

"Well, yeah I—"

Pyro threw open the door and launched her forearm at Sniper's throat, catching him off guard and causing him to stumble back into the wall. "What the _fuck _is wrong with you! And to think everyone thought Soldier was a nut job! You sick fuck, we _trusted _you!"

"No, wait," Sniper coughed, "It was an accident!" he yelled, holding his attacker at bay the best he could with one arm, his other held tight onto his hat.

Pyro wedged her elbow through Sniper's block and pressed it hard into his stomach directly below his ribs.

"Drugging Scout was an accident! I didn't poison any coffee! Don't go bonkers on me now, when I need you," Sniper shut his eyes tight and grabbed onto Pyro's arm to try and roll out of her grip.

"Look at me," Pyro shook Sniper, "Look at me and tell me you're innocent."

Sniper gasped and obliged, staring directly into Pyro's furious green eyes, "I didn't poison the coffee, and I didn't drug Scout."

Pyro jolted hard into the tender spot below his sternum.

Sniper cringed, "I didn't drug Scout _on purpose_," he rattled.

After a moment of deliberation she removed her elbow from Sniper, who exhaled noisily and grabbed his stomach, the color rushing back into his face.

"Either you've been taking lessons from that bastard Frenchman, or you're telling the truth."

"Appreciate the confidence," Sniper said roughly as he straightened his shirt. He'd be lying if he said he didn't admire Pyro's adamant distrust. It was the same quality that kept him alive for his tenure at BLU; he couldn't hold it against her for being scrupulous with her life and the lives of her comrades.

Pyro nodded, ruffled her hair and cracked her knuckles, "So, do I still look like I could be an angel?"


	22. Preparing the Angel

Hello ;) I feel like I have the entire story thought out on stickey notes in my head, and it's really hard not to throw it all up on paper. I'm so excited about it. Anyone read the TF2 comic that came out recently by Valve? It's pretty great, you should check it out.

ALSO! I haven't forgotten about this story! I just got side tracked by another, unrelated one for a while. This one will be finished ^.^

I have no idea how many people actively read this story, but know that whoever you are, one, two or six people total, you're the reason why I keep writing this. The reviews remind me that someone reads this hah.

On another note, Spy is so sexy.

* * *

Sniper did his best to explain to Pyro that the drug Scout swallowed was causing him to hallucinate, and therefore why he needed her to pretend to be an angel. It was an odd request, but Sniper pleaded the best he could and Pyro apprehensively obliged.

It took five minutes for her to shower in the infirmary (_Angels don't reek of sweat and propane,_ _Snipes!_) and three extra minutes for Sniper to convince her to throw on one of Medic's spare coats over her underclothes, adamant that angels were most likely white. Pyro wanted to argue that it was silly to quarrel over the attire of imaginary things, but bit her tongue and put on the coat. The sleeves reached the tips of her fingers and the tail of the coat dusted the floor as she walked. She made a point to be careful not to trip.

"One more thing," Sniper gazed at his feet and his face turned a pale shade of crimson as he presented his team mate with a wrinkled brown paper bag.

Pyro glanced inside and threw up her arms in rejection, "I am _not_ wearing tree ornaments! No! No way!"

"Don't gimme that codswallop, you agreed ta' help Scout n' _this_," he removed the shiny silver tinsel strand from the paper bag and shook it, "is helping!"

Pyro's lips narrowed into a thin line as she stared at the tinsel, wishing it would catch on fire in Sniper's hands. "You owe me. You owe me _so big._"

Sniper lay the tinsel on Pyro's shoulder and tried not to smile. What was this light, bubbly, fleeting warmth rolling around in his stomach? It felt like he bought a brand new rifle, or single handedly captured a control point. He screwed up his face and turned to scavenge the supply closets to chloroform while Pyro grumbled and stapled the tinsel into a loop, and pinned it to her hair.

"What are you looking for? You've gotten yourself in enough trouble for today," Pyro prodded, cringing at the mess Sniper had made digging through Medic's supplies. Unlike the closet in the hall, there were no German-to-English inventory translation sheets.

"Chloroform," Sniper replied shortly. "I'm looking for chloroform to knock out Scout."

Pyro looked over the scattered pile Sniper was shifting through and grabbed a large brown glass bottle with bold German text that he had discarded and handed it back to him.

"Chloroform. Now what?"

Sniper raised an eyebrow and decided he could scrutinize Pyro about her bilingual abilities later. Scout had been alone in the boiler room for nearly twenty minutes.

"You pretend you're an angel at Scout," Sniper began walking toward the door, Pyro followed, "And when he trusts you, you shove this in his face and make sure he breathes in deep," he said as he poured a generous amount of chloroform onto a folded pad of gauze he took from his pocket.

"What exactly did this drug do to him?" Pyro asked as she closed and locked the infirmary door behind them, dropping the key into one of Medic's deep coat pockets.

"Experimental animal sedative. Supposta calm 'em down, knock 'em out and then if he wakes up, he won't know up from down or purple from green."

Pyro's eyes went wide and mouthed the words '_if he wakes up.'_ She gave Sniper a look that made the pit of guilt in his stomach seem even more bottomless. Even the fluttering silver tinsel halo adorning Pyro's head didn't do much to distract from her accusatory glare.

"Have _you_ ever tried it?"

"A'course not!" Sniper snarled touchily. He was no dirty druggie. Pyro fixated at stare at him and he sighed, frustrated with his own impatience. "I mean, I 'aven't tried it. Donno what it does to humans."

"So we don't know what it does, but it's supposed to make animals disoriented? Tired?" whispered Pyro as they rounded the corner to the boiler room hallway.

"Like a bird in space," the Australian brooded darkly, hoping that after five years the pill's strength had degraded.

Pyro tried hard not to take Scout's wellbeing jokingly but often in the midst of an unknown outcome it was easier to bide your time being light hearted instead of morose. Imagining Scout trying to run on the moon was pretty funny, and she made a mental note to mention it to him _if_— no, _when_ they got him squared away.

"So I think you should start off with something profound. You know, like a speech."

Pyro straightened the white jacket and deepened her voice, "Don't ask what the angel can do for you, but what you can do for the angel."

Sniper couldn't help but laugh. "Get serious, c'mon. What are you going to tell him?"

"I figure I'll ask him about his life. We need to make sure he doesn't get wild or go into shock. We've got to keep him talking, keep him with us mentally, in reality world." Pyro felt less confident than she made herself out to be. This was the same tactic they used on the battlefield when dragging a wounded man to the Doctor. Keep them awake and as coherent as possible. Stop blood flow with a tourniquet, don't remove shrapnel or bullets.

Flashes of blood, flying body parts and screaming echoed in her head. It was so much more comfortable to think about violent, gory war, familiar and regulated and customary than it was to think of Scout, hallucinating and incoherent, trapped alone in the boiler room.

"Yes, good. But how is he going to _know _beyond a shadow of a doubt that you are an angel?"

Pyro took a moment to consider this and purposely gave Sniper the most misleading answer possible, "Rock salt."

"Beg your pardon?"

"Rock salt. Do you have any?"

"Now's not the time to be cryptic, Sheila."

"But it is time to be creative, isn't it?"

"Jesus Christ," Sniper rubbed his temples, "please don't think you're funny with this, I'm strung out as it is."

Together they stopped in front of the door labeled Boiler Room, Pyro with a haughty grin and Sniper holding his face and trying not to think of the words "dishonorable discharge."

"You know, you asked _me_ to help _you_," Pyro tugged her white lapels upright and looked at her reflection in the opaque window in boiler room door. The tinsel flopped to one side and she shook her head to straighten it. Then she turned to Sniper. "Trust me. I think this might work."


	23. Demon Derailed

Scout stood in the same corner the abomination had left him in, staring into the abyss of the Iron Maidens rumbling and humming ominously above their fiery stage. He remembered the priest during Sunday Morning Mass saying something about the less evil you saw, the less evil grew inside you. He never took anything from church so literally.

Every terrible, wicked thing he'd ever done replayed through his mind. From the time he was a boy and stepped on a goldfish to see what would happen, to every RED that he blew apart with his scatter gun, sins big and small paraded at the front of his attention. He really was a pretty terrible person.

A mass murderer. Harbinger of doom. Despicably savage brute. He was no different than the demon who captured him. Or was he? Yes. Yes he was, he convinced himself. He was much different. He could be better. He was motivated. He may not be entirely evil, not yet, but that could change.

Amidst the whine and whirr of the fire and Maidens, something jingled and clicked, then swished, and a dark figure walked inside.

The demon took on a more human appearance, below its crown a face he thought he recognized, but with yellow eyes inhumanly large and shining, and the same blazing blue and leather body. Scout froze as it approached holding its pointed clawed hands out stretched.

Scout clenched his jaw and prepared to strike, but before he had the chance, a cascade of shimmering rain fell over the demon, sprinkling like hard rain as it dispersed on the floor, bouncing about and coming to a rest like sparkling sand.

The demon let out a howl and it crouched to the ground as if held there by a command it could not elude. Who was it that subdued his demon..?

A soft, welcoming female voice beckoned to him. He looked over the demon to the lofty bright entrance where his caller awaited.

A woman stood in the doorway dressed in a white gown that melded into the floor. Red hair covered one side of her face, and atop her head was a sparkling silver crown. What struck Scout the hardest was her expression. It looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't decide what it was she was feeling. He felt oddly detached, like he was a hollow shell of a person. All of the formalities of human articulation had left him, and he couldn't remember what this woman's face was trying to tell him.

He couldn't let anyone know that he was unable to rescue himself, that he needed the help of some sort of angel to get out of this mess. It didn't matter to him where he was or who he was held by, divine or not. He had to destroy this angel. If the angel subdued the demon, and he took out the angel, then that was the only way he could redeem himself.

Pyro gazed at Scout with a slight smile. She really had absolutely no idea what she was doing and decided the tinsel should do most of the work. She watched Sniper the Defeated Demon crouch in the room, covered in pretend angel-magic-rock-salt, waiting for her to signal him to get up.

Scout looked haggard and disoriented, his eyes rolled with an eerie slowness but his grip on the wall was firm as he slowly crept toward her. Pyro opened her arms expecting Scout to crawl into them and cue the happy ending. No such relief bestowed itself upon Pyro.

With an abnormally ferocious grin Scout anchored himself on the door frame. His eyes locked with the mock-angel in front of him. Pyro stood with her arms open, suddenly feeling very, very stupid.

Before Pyro could dig the chloroform soaked gauze from the trenches of Medic's coat pockets Scout propelled himself off of the wall head-first into Pyro's stomach. Together they fell into a tangle of flailing kicks and punches, rolling one atop the other again and again until their violent duet reeled into Sniper who wasted no time in trying to peel Scout away from Pyro by his legs.

Scout held Pyro's neck with one hand and used his free one to remove his belt and lash it around her neck. He clutched her close to him and rolled as hard as he could, sending Sniper tumbling backwards. Scout thrust his foot into Sniper's face leaving a significant boot print, and as the Aussie blocked his face from recurring kicks Scout tied the other end of his belt around Sniper's left ankle. Scout wiggled free of his would-be captors and stumbled against the wall to catch his breath.

Spit-strewn blood oozed from Pyro's mouth as she gagged and choked against the belt tied to Sniper's leg. She raised her fingers to the leather collar, which seemed to get tighter with every heartbeat. A haze fell over Pyro's vision as she watched Scout through dark circles that grew thicker every second until she saw nothing at all.

Sniper realigned his jaw with a sickening crack, reached down to his belt loop and tore away his knife, sawed through the knot against his leg and then carefully unbuckled the strap around Pyro's neck and propped her upright against the wall.

Disoriented and sporting a toothless, bloody grin, Scout tottered along the length of the hallway wheezing with every breath. His body trembled but he was floating at the same time, carried by legs that didn't feel like his own. He grasped the corner and peered left, then right.

He thought he should know where he was but everything looked upside down, or maybe it was all the wrong color but whatever was happening was accompanied by the most awkward painful feeling right around where his kidneys had been feeling quite normal just a moment ago. Scout tried to roll his back along the wall, but something prevented him from turning completely. He brought his hand along his right side.

"I've been," Scout swayed a bit, his eye lids fluttered, "stabbed?"

Sniper waited for Scout to collapse and then arranged him in his arms. He looked back to where he'd set down Pyro, and wished he'd pulled the knife out of Scout so he could throw it at the gangly, sullen-faced Frenchman who had just appeared out of thin air and was now looming over her.

"Get 'im to ze doctor, I will take care of 'er. Go!"

Despite the aching twinge of wounded pride Sniper nodded to Spy and disappeared with Scout into the next hallway.

"Even after ze boy selfishly reveals you, you do not hesitate to 'elp him." Spy looked over Pyro curiously and brushed a blood clotted lock of hair away from her face. He carefully lifted her over his shoulder and carried her to the infirmary.


	24. The Introvert and the Liar

**ATTENTION: SCOUT'S BACKGROUND IS NOT FINISHED. NEITHER IS SOLDIER'S.**

**That is all ;)**

* * *

Pyro awoke with the sound of muffled breathing in her ear. Consciousness greeted her with a shooting pain up the back of her neck and cemented, prickly joints. The Medigun was wonderful, but its side effects were not. Even her eyelids resisted the signal to blink, remaining stiff and full of ache just like the rest of her body.

When she did manage to peel her eyes open, the familiar sterile tiled white infirmary developed in front of her. She was no longer wearing Medic's coat. Nor was she wearing socks, her jump suit or the shiny tinsel halo, only a thin backless hospital gown and a thick layer of white blankets. The taste of blood lingered in her mouth, and her teeth felt crooked even though a quick examination by her tongue revealed they were just the same as they always were.

Pyro craned her neck to the source of the muted breathing. Out of all of the people she imagined she'd see in the chair beside her bed, leaning over with his head on the edge of the same pillow she was using, the last person she thought she'd see would be Demoman.

And that's exactly who was passed out next to her. His breath wafted pungent alcohol and chocolate. Why was he here? Not that Pyro had anything against Demoman, quite the opposite. She thought he was a riot to be around, at least before he knew who she was. For the past few weeks he seemed rather subdued.

Medic had left his desk lamp on and drawn down the shade on the infirmary door window. The round clock read fourteen hundred, and she realized she'd missed the tailor all together. Oh well.

In the bed to her right she heard quiet shuffling and the sound of blankets moving, but it was impossible to tell who it was in the bed, as the curtains were drawn in a horse shoe shape hiding whoever was inside.

Pyro gently nudged Demoman's head with her elbow. No response. "Hey, wake up," she whispered. Passed out drunk, great.

"Wake," she pushed his head again, "up! Wake up!"

Demoman's chair slid away from the bed and his unconscious bulk slithered to the floor. He grunted and mumbled something inaudible, and then became still.

"Really?" Pyro irritably asked the silent room. She carefully crossed her legs over the side of the bed and set a toe on Demoman's back. He twitched but did not wake up. Again she used her foot to shake him, each push less gentle and restrained than the last, his bomber-squad vest squeaking against the linoleum.

Pyro growled and hopped onto the floor, hoisted her slumbering team mate onto her shoulder and tossed him onto the bed. "I need this more than you do," she said as she unlatched the brown jug from his utility belt (Why he was still wearing it during the cease fire she didn't know), uncorked it and took a swig. Empty.

She sighed and placed the empty bottle on the chair he had been using and decided to check on whoever was using the next bed. She was not surprised to see it was Scout in the infirmary with her, though it took a moment to figure out that it was him as someone (probably Medic) had completely shaved his head and his face looked raw and pink from being scrubbed. His eyes were cushioned by thick, bruised skin and he looked like he had gauze filling his mouth; his cheeks puffed out slightly and he wheezed as he slept.

Pyro left Scout to his hopefully dreamless sleep, reclosing the curtain around the bed.

"Got 'ere as fast as I could." Pyro whipped around to find Demoman resting with his hands behind his head still lying where she had left him.

"Sniper came n' told me I was in a damn mess since what'ai did ta' the boy," he nodded toward the other bed, " Gettin' 'im drunk n' drugged ta' boot. But I didn' care none ta' visit 'til I heard you was roughed up too."

Pyro didn't move from the spot where she'd turned from Scout's bed. She stood facing Demoman and shifted from foot to foot, very aware that her hospital gown only covered her front and growing increasingly embarrassed and angry that Demoman took such an inopportune moment to wake up while her back was turned on him. He didn't seem to have noticed, or if he did he didn't say anything about it.

Demo somberly stared at her, completely comfortable and unaware of her embarrassment. It seemed like ages until either of them moved or spoke.

Demo swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up without swaying or showing any signs of intoxication. He purposefully walked to Pyro and stood in front of her. Pyro had to look up at him, as he was about a head taller and also wearing his combat boots. He looked in her eyes and his expression did not change; he didn't smile or frown but remained pensive, pokerfaced.

After a moment he put a hand on her shoulder and told her in the most sincere voice she'd ever heard him use, "I'm glad yer alright," and then he left the infirmary.

Pyro watched Demo leave and made sure the door was shut before scurrying back to her bed. Why was Demo acting so strange? She'd never heard him sound so... Sad? _No, he wasn't sad. He looked more… Resolute. That's it, resolute._

But what did it mean? Pyro picked at the rock salt beneath her finger nails and let it sprinkle to the floor. Her heart was sent in a flurry of agitation when the rock salt dust landed on something that looked suspiciously like an invisible foot.

"What are you doing here?" Pyro asked soporifically.

"Please, don't sound so enthralled to see me."

"I don't because I _can't_," she lethargically kicked the air in front of her and was not startled when her foot met something hard. A blue outline of Spy shimmered briefly before he became entirely visible.

"An _exhilarating _morning, no?" Spy asked, an unlit cigarette hung from his mouth.

"Not really," replied Pyro. What did he mean by exhilarating? Surely he wasn't criminal enough to follow their escapades with Scout and not offer to help.

"Too true," he smirked knowingly, "Nozzing _boils _your blood like a morning cart push."

"Yeah, sure," she responded uneasily, wondering where this conversation was going, and why he was invisible in the infirmary. Had he slipped in when Demo left, or had he been there before then?

"Why, just ze ozzer day I found myself reminiscing of past battles. Eet's been so long, I wasn't so sure I hadn't _hallucinated _zhem all." Spy smiled inwardly. He hoped that Pyro was catching his carefully placed hints. He wanted her to know that he knew about Scout.

"I am sick and tired of your arrogant bullshit," she snarled quietly, looking daggers at Spy.

Spy picked the cigarette from his lips and gave Pyro a dazzling smile, "A pretty girl like you doezzn't need to cuss to get what she wants. Zhere are much more effective and _pleasureful_ ways."

Pyro plucked the cigarette from his fingers, "Why are you here?"

Another gracious beam spread across his face, "Moi cheri, whatever do you mean?" he asked, taking back the cigarette.

Pyro seized Spy's tie and yanked it downward, "Why are you in the infirmary with your invisibility watch? If you saw _anything _I swear to god I will burn your eyes out."

Spy gently placed his hand on Pyro's fist, still gripping his tie and said softly, "I suggest we relocate our tête-à-tête to a more private location," he said, nodding in the direction of Scout's bed.

"I'm not falling for that you half-baked scum sucking—"

"Ah-ah-ah," Spy stuck his hand over Pyro's mouth and then whispered, "Zhey can hear you better zan you zhink."

"Who?! Who the hell is going to hear me pummel your face in other than Scout?" she whispered loudly.

Spy smiled and moved his lips close to her ear and said quietly, "Ze Medic."

Pyro tugged Spy's tie, causing him to flinch just a little bit, which was satisfying. "Let him listen," she snarled, conscientiously planning on how to best place Spy in a mollified state.

"_Exactly what I waz thinking,"_ he whispered provocatively, looking into her eyes.

"You are such a bastard," Pyro released him in disgust.

Spy smoothed out his jacket and tucked in his tie. He withdrew a lighter from his jacket pocket and lit the cigarette he'd brought with him. His profession required him to be an ultimately masterful liar, something which once everyone knew you to be, allowed you to tell your deepest truths without the concern of anyone taking them seriously.

This made him fearful about what he was preparing to tell. If everything that came out of his mouth Pyro considered a lie, then he'd push her away as planned, and further callous what was left of him.

He sighed. He needed to get her off his back, distract her, and frustrate her. Throw her awry so she'd stop asking about why he was in the infirmary and concentrate on hating him instead. He wished he could do so with an actual lie.

He took a deep breath to prepare himself and gazed lovingly at Pyro, "You are absolutely enchanting mi amor. I 'ave 'ad many women in my life, but none were as fascinating as you. You are ze perfect combination of ferocity and loveliness zat I would be crazy not to pursue wiz every fiber of my being."

What little innocent, unsullied fragment of Spy's heart pulsed with excitement and fear. He did his best to savor the long-forgotten taste of passionate obsession. He read disquiet in Pyro's eyes as they met with his; the throbbing in his chest panged vigorously against its cage as he watched her jaw shift and grind, trying to figure him out.

"You 'ave shown you can be as dark as ze most terrible night; an unforgiving firestorm 'oo deserves to be respected. And feared," Spy drew a finger over the scarred ridges of Pyro's cheek, his expression melting into an affectionate stare.

"But I know zhere iz somezing more. Somezing equally exquisite and strikingly beautiful as ze darkness you claim iz your only self. Zhat beauty you 'ave hidden away and denied so stubbornly cannot stay buried forever," he touched the unscathed half of her face.

Pyro imagined how she might have responded to this avalanche of flattery a decade ago. She'd most likely do something stupid, like swoon and expect him to sweep her off her feet and live happily ever after.

She was much smarter now, and demonstrated her experience by smashing Spy's nose with the brunt of her forehead.

She wiped the warm blood that dripped down her face and flung it at Spy who stumbled backward with his hands over his nose, failing to hold back the steady stream of blood that was splattering on the floor.

"You forget which side I like to use the most. I _will_ killyou if you come at me with that bogus flattery shit again."

Spy leaned forward to try and avoid spilling more blood onto his suit. He groaned and wobbled to the infirmary door, leaving bloody hand prints as he opened it.

"Yoo wanted to know," Spy snorted and blood sloshed onto his hand, "What eet was zhat was terrible about Engineer. Come find me when you are ready."

Anger boiled Pyro's blood. Spy could be entirely too smooth and make her feel like a stupid little girl, and then when she fights back and punishes him for making her feel so weak he comes right back acting like a martyr, telling her to come to him whenever she wants to know about Engineer's past, not taking away his previous offer like a normal person would but _suggesting _she come see him about it! The nerve! He was the most absolutely selfish person she'd ever met, and it didn't help that he knew _exactly _how to tweak someone into feeling bad about the things they've done and block them into a secluded little rat maze and push them along where he wanted them to go.

She never thought she'd ever be wishing Spy were a RED with more passion than she did right now.

* * *

THREE HOURS EARLIER

"Whadd'ya mean, I can't wear a kilt?!" Demoman swayed in the center of the common area, one hand on his hip and the other waving his near empty moonshine jug.

"Sir, I don't make the decisions I just take the measurements," the tailor explained, the crows' feet beside his eyes wrinkling with frustration.

"That'che do, mate!" Demoman hovered in close to the tailor, who flinched, "You can let 'em know that I can't fit in the suit yer gonna make, n' that it's your professional advisement that'cha think I should be wearin' a kilt!"

Engineer wiped his face down with his hand. Without Spy or Medic to buckle him down, Demoman's drunken raving had been all but hindered. He hated to admit that it was his fault Demo had a near limitless supply of home-made alcohol.

"Sir," the tailor held up the fabric measuring tape, "if I could just—"

"No! I gave you yer answer, n' a good excuse fer ya ta give Missus Buh-lew," Demoman sloshed his drink into his mouth.

Engineer rose from his seat and ushered Demoman onto the couch and asked him to let him handle it.

"See, he ain't too cooperative with anybody, don't take it personally," Engineer said quietly to the tailor who was rubbing his forehead.

The tailor continued his work and had full measurements for Engineer, Heavy and the top half of Demo in twenty minutes.

"Now I've been instructed to measure eight men, but I've only seen you three," the tailor pointed out.

"I'll get on the base horn n' see that the others report as soon as they can," Engineer paused. "You said you only got orders to measure eight? Don'cha mean nine?"

The tailor frowned and pulled a small black book out of his pocket and flipped a few pages around, "No, I've only got to measure eight. Says right here, wrote it down this morning. Ms. Blu said it herself. Even made me sign a consent form and some other wither-wather and told me I'd be measuring _eight men _when I got down here._"_

Engineer's expression widened as it dawned on him; _There _are_ only eight men here._

"I see, I'm sorry I musta been up too late again," he gave the tailor a brief smile. "By any chance, is anyone _else _on your list to get measured? Anyone that's not a man?"

The tailor watched Engineer as if he just asked him to eat his book. "Not a man… You mean, like a woman?"

"I s'pose so, yeah."

Again the tailor flipped through the book, though he looked like he did so just to make Engineer happy. "No, I don't recall Ms. Blu saying anything about a woman…" he trailed off reading something in his book and then abruptly snapped the book shut. "Nope, nothing about a woman."

"Ah," Engineer smiled again, lifted his hat and flattened his hair before replacing it. "Lemme go get the other guys for ya."


	25. Scolded

**Hi everyone ^.- happy new year!! **

**This chapter is short, but there will be more very soon.  
**

**Don't you just love the TF2 intro music, the one with the loud drums?? Ohhh I just loooove that music. It reminds me of Soldier! Who, by the way, is getting ready to make his come back, hehehe. **

* * *

Medic tapped his pen and swiveled his chair left and right, left and right, staring down Pyro with unmoving cold eyes. _Just like a real doctor,_ Pyro thought disdainfully.

Unlike Pyro, Scout had not been discharged from the infirmary the morning following the incident. However after releasing Pyro, Medic insisted that she stay for an evaluation. Pyro learned that Medic's usage of 'evaluation' was synonymous with interrogation.

He sat Pyro down in the wobbly wooden guest chair opposite his desk and glared at her, playing tricks with his shiny black pen and looking pensive. Other than a slight groan, he'd said nothing for five minutes.

"I expected more from you. Anyvone else, vine. Vhatever. But you?" Medic clicked his tongue and shook his head like a disappointed father. Pyro rolled her eyes and watched the clock's second hand glide over the chunky black numbers.

"You could have come gotten me." He opened a desk drawer and removed the tinsel that Pyro had pinned to her hair and tossed it onto his desk. "Instead, you feel _zhis _would be a formidable solution?"

Pyro said nothing and pretended she had her mask on. She didn't feel like dealing with Medic's semi-thought out contempt.

Medic leaned back in his chair and danced his pen about his fingers. "Contract terms require zhat I report you to Ms. Blu. Ze only reason I am not, however, iz because I hate Scout," he finished calmly.

"You don't mean that," said Pyro looking askance to Medic, who replied with a glare.

"He deserved it. He iz thoughtless und careless, und should have known better."

Medic must have had an 'evaluation' with Sniper the day before, and now it was apparent that he'd spilt the story. Pyro completely agreed with Medic, that the whole situation erupted from Scout's irresponsibility, but for the sake of playing the devil's advocate and getting on Medic's nerves said the following, "You should have searched Sniper or at least asked about any strange drugs he might have kept."

"_Don't _change ze subject. I vas telling you zhat you are free and clear, not in trouble. Do you get it? Or vould you rather me let Ms. Blu know you vere involved in a potentionally _lethal _poisoning of your team member und didn't follow proper protocol?"

Pyro ground her teeth and clenched her fists. "No. I don't want you to tell Ms. Blu."

"Zhen it iz settled," Medic gave her a fake, generic looking smile, put down his pen and folded his hands on the desk. "Ms. Blu vill not know. Now, iz zhere anything you vould like to let me in on? About ze trail of blood leading from _your _bed to ze hallway exit, perhaps?"

Medic strung the right cord and Pyro's eyes widened. After Spy left she mopped the blood with gauze and on top of that, used bleach to get rid of the smell. The Doctor grinned at her reaction.

"It's okay. I know about ze blood. But whose vas it? Not yours, I imagine. I checked Scout zhis morning. And because I do not vant to get anyvone involved who need not be, I have not asked around. Who vas vith you last night zhat spontaneously spurted blood all over my infirmary?"

He was good. Pyro couldn't back track the conversation back to Scout or even Sniper, not now. She was under the spotlight, being scrutinized about her secret late night visitor. Why had Spy come to visit her, other than to act like a prick? He had information that she was aching to find out, and if she let Medic know it had been Spy visiting her, Medic would go after him, and Spy probably wouldn't be as willing to share what he knew. On the other hand, why hadn't he retracted his offer after she broke his nose a second time? Would just one more negative experience keep him from sharing what he knew?

Well, she figured, at least this answered a few things that had been on her mind. For one, Medic had been keeping a close eye – or ear, rather – on his infirmary that night, which meant he might know when Spy had come to visit. Second, and obviously, he probably knew what they had been talking about so she must tread carefully.

"Not going to answer?" Medic's lips curled.

"Spy, it was Spy's blood," Pyro answered truthfully.

"Oh?"

"He came to see me and say he was sorry, but he ended up turning back into the jerk we all know him to be."

Medic squinted. "Zhat vas vhy you broke his nose?"

Pyro nodded. He must have treated Spy or else he wouldn't have known that it was his nose she broke. "I was wondering," she began, knowing she was taking a risk, and Medic would probably probe into the roots of her question, "Do you know _when_ Spy came into the infirmary?"

"He stayed after he brought you to me, und didn't leave until you attacked him," he said. Pyro waited for more, but Medic kept quiet.

"_He _brought me here?" Pyro frowned. She had assumed that Sniper carried her to the infirmary, but Spy's involvement did seem like the missing puzzle piece; all of his less than subtle hints that he dropped suggesting he knew about Scout as well as his being in the infirmary when she awoke. But that meant that Spy had been following Sniper and herself, and knew about their plan to help Scout and only assisted them when things went wrong. Pyro clamped her lips together with her teeth to withhold the bombardment of foul language roaring inside of her.

"And why," Pyro began angrily, "Would you ask me a question that you already knew the answer to?" she raged. If Medic knew all about Spy's visit last night, why did he have to ask her whose blood it was he'd found? Was he trying to push her to see if she'd lie?

A glimmer of a smile flashed on Medic's face but vanished just as quickly. He picked up his pen and made a node on a sheet inside of a manila folder before closing it and standing up, "You look just vine to me, don't let me keep you."

"Keep me from what? Bullshitting around all day while we wait for RED to get off their asses and do something? You know why we're all getting crazy, right Doc? I haven't smelled charred corpse in so long I've been dreaming about it." She wasn't sure why she exploded like that. She did miss fighting, more than she wanted to admit. It wasn't just the killing; it was the feeling of being productive, of accomplishment, of power. She missed feeling powerful. Why was this coming up all of a sudden?

Medic acted like he didn't hear a word of Pyro's outburst, "Keeping you avay from ze tailor, of course. Ms. Blu requested he stay for one more day to get your measurements."


	26. Little Black Dress

"Arms out to the side, shoulders back, feet apart," the tailor directed Sniper has he stood in the center of the common room. He wrapped the fabric tape measure around his arms, along his legs and everywhere else until he asked him to stand as tall as he could with his feet flat.

"Six-five," he said surprised, referring to Sniper's height. Sniper puckered his brow; just two years ago he swore he was six-six.

The double-swinging doors opened and Pyro stepped through, dressed complete with her oversized jumpsuit and mask. She grunted hello to Sniper and the tailor, the only two men in the room and took a seat on the sofa.

The tailor removed his black book from his pocket and flipped around in the pages. "Are you—" he paused to hold up his reading glasses that hung from a chain around his neck, "Erm, the Pyrotech?"

Pyro nodded and gave him a thumbs-up.

"I see. I have instructions to meet with you separately. Do you have personal accommodations?"

Another nod accompanied by a thumb pointed upward.

"Very good. I'll be with you as soon as I'm done with this tall fellow," he smiled.

Ten minutes later, after the tailor measured about one hundred other places Pyro didn't know were necessary to craft a suit; the numbers were in for Sniper.

"Well then, that's seven. Now," he lifted his glasses again, using them to read his book, "there's the other fellow I have to visit later today, and, hmm," he trailed off for a moment before continuing, "yes, yes I think after you we're finished." He gave Pyro a slight smile, probably wondering why this guy was wearing a mask and a bit apprehensive about it on top of being a few stories underground.

Pyro escorted the tailor to her personal quarters. She entered her room first and left him waiting in the hall so she could tidy up; hide the unmentionables (spare fire axe, spare flame thrower parts, a jumbo box of pre-struck matches) and pull down the tapestries covering the recessed lighting.

The tailor entered and Pyro closed the door behind him. She sat in her lounge chair, unsure of what came next.

"So, Ms. Blu told me that your identity is supposed to remain secret, so we'll have to put together some special formal wear for you," he pulled a small hardcover book out of his satchel bag and sat down on the leg rest in front of Pyro.

"Now, I have here some options I've drawn up. I haven't ever been asked to do something like this, a full body formal suit so please understand this is new for me too."

If she had to guess, the tailor looked nervous. He smiled too often and his leg jumped up and down as he sat. Pyro took the hardcover book handed to her and opened to the first page.

The first page held a rough sketch of a tuxedo with black gloves and attached mask that was not unlike the one she wore at that moment. On the next page, a similar suit but with a sewn on top hat. She flipped farther and found what looked like a blue cat suit with broadened shoulders and a mask where the whole face was an opaque screen, instead of mouth and eye holes. Each drawing looked creepier than the last, outfits that death row inmates might wear when they sat on Old Sparky and wanted to look classy. Pyro closed the book and handed it back to him.

"So? Anything you like?"

Pyro shrugged and shook her head. The tailor looked put off, but remaining adamant to find something suitable he pulled out a drawing pad and began to sketch. "Blue, right? Navy sounds about right. No no, we'll do black. Yes, black. And no tie, forget the tie," he smiled at Pyro who shrugged again.

"Elegant gloves, mhm. We'll make those white. Okay. And how about a white sweater? That'd be sharp under a black jacket. And let's see… Oh yes, a mask," he studied Pyro for a brief moment before continuing his drawing. "Black, with black netting around the eyes, mouth and ears." He held his drawing in front of him and grinned. "Fine design if I do say so myself," he handed the sketch pad to Pyro.

It didn't look _that _bad, almost like a penguin with long legs. She nodded and gave her thumbs up again. The tailor smiled.

"Now then, measurements!" He pulled out his fabric tape and hung it over his shoulder. Pyro stood up in front of him and waited.

"I can't get good numbers with you wearing that," he tugged at the bulk of extra fabric hanging from Pyro's arm.

_Take off the suit? In front of him? _Pyro grimaced. It had to be done, she couldn't refuse. And what did it matter if he knew she was a woman? Apparently he already did. Right? Otherwise Ms. Blu wouldn't have told him to see her separately.

Pyro unceremoniously removed her mask and unzipped her suit, letting it fall to her feet before kicking it onto her bed. Cold enclosed her and her skin rose with goose bumps. Her white tank top, boxers and scrunched-to-her-ankle knee socks didn't hold the warmth the suit did. She looked back to the tailor who was staring at her, dumbstruck.

"Ahh, errm, okay. Let's uh, let's see." It took him ten whole minutes to measure everything, mostly because he was trying his hardest not to touch her and had to pull his gaze which seemed to magnetize to her scars. Once or twice his fingers brushed her leg and he retracted immediately, apologizing over and over again. She laughed when he did so.

"I can, uh. I can make some adjustments, _here_," he erased some lines on the drawing and redrew them with rough feminine curves.

"No, that's fine. What you had first was just fine." Pyro said. The tailor looked at her curiously as if she were a talking animal.

"Oh. Well, okay."

* * *

Friday afternoon rolled in and so did a special lunch. At twelve thirty, the oversize dumbwaiter located in the small concrete building on the surface descended into the underground BLU base, carrying carefully packaged white boxes filled with an assortment of fresh fruit, meat pies and a box of frozen New York hot dogs (which Scout was ecstatic to find).

While Scout, Engineer and Heavy sorted through the bakery boxes piled on the kitchen table, Medic picked up a crisp white envelope that had fallen from in-between the packages and read its content's aloud.

_BLU Field Team,_

_It is with consideration that I must inform you that Saturday's company stockholders meeting will be preceded by a mandatory inspection to take place at the BLU outpost midway between the field base and BLU Headquarters. Saturday at twelve-hundred hours a transport will retrieve you. Your formal attire will be delivered to you at this time. Keep in mind that all illegal substances on your person will be confiscated. See attached list for prohibited items._

_Ms. Blu_

_The delicious parcel is courtesy of your collective retirement fund._

"We 'ave a retirement fund?" Heavy asked as he inspected a meat pie wrapped in foil.

"Und it is dwindling vith each furtive fruit basket," Medic carefully folded the letter and stuffed it into his coat pocket.

The savory, warm aroma of spiced minced meat marinated the kitchen and seeped out into the halls. It didn't take long for Demo's nose to lead him to the source.

Demo rubbed his hands together briskly, "Tortiere?" Without waiting for anyone to reply (or ask just what a 'tortiere' was) he snatched the topmost box and tore it open, stuffing his face into the crunchy layer of buttery crust and the juicy, flavorful minced meat within. He didn't even bother to take a seat at the table, continuing to stand and devour the pie, moaning for the duration of each bite.

Medic chose the heftiest orange he could find from the fruit basket, while Scout had already turned on the stove and tore apart the hotdog box. Engineer stood aside the stove and adjusted the temperatures that Scout originally twisted to their highest settings. Heavy quickly devoured two ripe bananas and was studying a large glass bottle of top shelf vodka donned with a blue and silver bow.

As Medic, Heavy, Scout and Engineer enjoyed their retirement-funded food bundle none were distracted by Pyro as she wandered in wearing a very long, very grey woolen nightgown and pulled out a chair for herself. "So what's that good smell?" she leaned over the table and grabbed herself a bakery box. Inside she found three jumbo éclairs.

Scout twisted briefly from the stove long enough for Pyro to see his face flush red before returning his full attentions to the hot dogs.

"Lass, wha'the 'ell are ya wearin'?" Demo scrunched his forehead and looked at her curiously.

"This?" she tugged at the grey tunic, "I dug out my closet and now I'm washing everything. This is the only thing I have not in the laundry service."

"A bit late for zpring cleaning, isn't it?" Medic said as he peeled the rhine from his massive orange with a mysterious scalpel he carried in his breast pocket beside his elegant black pen.

"I was lookin' for something to wear to the stockholder's meeting," she removed an éclair from its box, "not really into the suit the tailor has in mind for me..." she trailed off quietly.

"Wail then, make yer own!" Demo shouted before shoving another large bite of tortiere in his mouth. "S'whut 'um 'ooin."

Pyro didn't have to ask for Demo to repeat himself. He held up his hand while he chewed and explained when he was finished. "Guy said I couldn' wear a kilt! So I'mma make one mah damn self! S'what I'm gonna do. Ain't no one gonna tell me none different! Wear whatever tha'ell I want." He took another bite of the near diminished pie.

"Pssh! You can't sew none better than you can do trigonometry," Engineer ridiculed.

"I c'n so! I've got mainy skills," he nodded flagrantly and winked at Pyro. Engineer mocked Demo by closing one eye and pretending to take a swig of an invisible jug while the Scottsman's back was turned.

Pyro smiled bleakly and picked at her éclair. The stockholder's meeting loomed over her like a doubtful holiday she couldn't possibly enjoy. Now that she'd been freed from the confines of physical obscurity, she found herself reluctant to hide behind a mask again. For the past few weeks a new personality had developed inside her and she didn't want to stray from it, not just yet while it was still exciting and new.

And so she found herself wishing she had more éclairs, having eaten two and only vaguely recalling the first chocolatey, cream filled bite.

"Ya know," Demo reached across the table at Pyro and rustled the bakery box in front of her, agitating her out of her worry filled stupor. "I c'n help ya put together somethin'."

Before Pyro could reply to Demo's offer, Heavy stole their attention with a deep, long whistle. In his hands he held up a calendar, an upside down pin-up girl with a yellow polka dot skirt and matching bikini top adorned the front.

"'Ey! Lemme see that!" Demo lunged toward Heavy to get a glimpse of the calendar. Heavy retracted the calendar out of his reach, but turned so everyone could get a good look at the girl inside.

The woman who took up nearly two pages for the month of January with one sultry pose left little space for the calendar at her feet. Black, sharply curved bangs and straight shoulder length hair distinguished the smooth outline of her jaw and parchment white skin. Her hands held tight onto a riding crop and she bit down on her bottom lip; the black, laced corset and puffed bell skirt completed her the look as a woman who could get anything she wanted by asking sweetly and wearing the right outfit.

Heavy flipped over to February and the same woman adorned the page, this time wearing only a man's white long sleeve button up shirt, kneeling with her hands below her chin and her head tilted to one side, smiling. March, she wore a floral pattern dress she couldn't help to keep her covered as she lay on her back and tipped her legs upward, giving a captivating grin to the camera.

Out of all of the enigmatic poses and alluring apparel, one in particular caught Pyro's attention. November, a sparkling, low collared black dress fell to her ankles; a cut from the waist to floor split the dress on the right. She pulled enticingly at one of her thin shoulder straps and puckered her lips.

"Can you make _that_?" Pyro brazenly asked Demo, pointing to the audaciously dressed calendar girl.


	27. Demoman: Not just a master of explosives

Pyro giggled inwardly, the laughing ghost inside of her frolicking around exultant thoughts of excitement and glee. She couldn't remember the last time she felt like this, or if she ever did at all. Demo wholeheartedly agreed (he was almost too eager) to recreate the long black dress the calendar girl wore as an attribute to November. He did say however that she had to come up with her own materials, as he doubted he'd find any lustrous black fabric in his wears.

So began the hunt for a lavish black material. She'd already checked her own closet, nothing. She looked over the locker room storage and found a collection of fine cobalt silk table clothes, but they were embroidered with the BLU company logo. Pyro took those anyway, hoping she wouldn't have to resort to them.

The locker room only had faded blue terrycloth towels and robes. The dumbwaiter room to the laundry service had piles of forgotten clothes, one heap dedicated to partially burnt uniforms (Pyro couldn't help but snicker). Everything else was oil stained or too small, but nothing she found was black, other than a few socks that she suspected had originally been white.

Pyro paced her room, mentally scavenging the base repeatedly, trying to come up with somewhere she hadn't yet looked. Her answer came to her when she leaned her head back in frustration.

The tapestries that shaded the recessed lighting! It was a black, flowing fabric if you unfolded it. Sure it was incredibly dusty but it was black and there was surely enough of it to make a single dress. She swiftly pulled down the dusty black fabric hanging from the ceiling and hurried to Demoman's personal quarters.

* * *

Pyro arrived at Demo's dorm at half past sixteen hundred. Just like Engineer's armory a mini warehouse that branched off a far wing of the underground base was dedicated to Demoman and his explosive artillery. Steel shelving lined the walls, filled with steel boxes holding hollow spiked bombs, spare detonator parts and grenade shells. A separate closet held fuses and live detonator remotes and yet another closet with an iron door was labeled "Black Powder."

Demo had a personal room with a bed just like everyone else, but it didn't seem that he used it. In the center of his warehouse a single mattress sat on the floor with a bundle of sheets and pillows piled atop. Beside the bed a makeshift nightstand crafted from what looked like scrap shelving and a plywood plank; the only thing resting on it was a picture frame that was face down. Pyro wondered why he preferred to sleep in the middle of a room filled with pre-assembled explosives.

Demo secured the massive bolted vault door after letting Pyro inside.

"'Ome sweet 'ome," Demo waved his arms around. "Wailcome ta me humble abode," he grinned.

He led Pyro to the back corner of his warehouse where a scrubbed wooden table bared an industrial sized electric sewing machine. Demo took the tapestries from Pyro and inspected them, then placed them on the table. From a box below the sewing table he retrieved the calendar and flipped open to November. He told Pyro that Heavy said he could borrow it, but Pyro knew this probably wasn't true. Heavy had a collection of pin up calendars and she highly doubted he would have let any of them out of his sight.

"Whew," he admired the girl in the black dress. "You 'ave good taste, lass."

Pyro let him study the photo for a moment before interrupting to ask just how long it was going to take to duplicate the dress.

"'Bout four hours, give 'er take," he closed the calendar and placed it beside the machine, then spread out the black fabric on the table and retrieved a stick of white chalk from his pocket. "I'll need some measurements, bust-waist-hips-ya-know-all-that," he said very quickly while absentmindedly checking knobs and buttons on his sewing machine.

Pyro automatically unzipped the front of her jumpsuit and pulled her arms out, letting the suit drop to the floor. She kicked off her boots and stepped out of the crumbled suit.

"I—uh," Demoman fumbled the chalk and dropped it onto the floor, a puff of white dust settled on his black boots. He turned away from her and Pyro thought if his pigment would allow, his face would be very red.

"Demo, we've done things together that require far more trust than you seeing me in my underclothes. Remember when I dragged you back to base, on fire and bleeding out?" It was hard not to remember that day, even though she couldn't recall exactly how long ago it had been. Demo was caught in crossfire and before he could find cover, a flare hit him square in the chest. Pyro managed to find him trying to crawl his way to safety and dragged him by his arms to the nearest supply room. She did what had to be done, removing his smoldering uniform without any forethought to modesty.

"Yeah, I remember." He turned to face her and pulled a fabric tape from his pocket and began taking her measurements. His movements were steady and he avoided her eyes completely, careful not to touch her as he used the measure to wrap around her hips first and then writing the number on the black fabric in chalk. After doing the same for her waist he turned back and stared at her, looking like he had something to say but not sure how.

"Its fine, I'll do it." She took the measure from him and went behind one of the shelves. Demo turned away from her anyway, still looking quite coy. Pyro removed her tank top, unwrapped the bandage around her chest and took her measurements as quickly as she could and redressed herself.

"Thirty-six," she told him, dropping the tape onto the table.

"And?" he asked as he wrote the number in chalk.

"And what?"

Demo looked pensive and tapped the table, trying to find the right words. "I need—wail, th' size o' your—ya know," he cupped his hands and put them in front of his chest. "You know."

Pyro raised an eyebrow and tried to recollect a situation where Demo was as vague as he was right now. "Are you worried about saying 'tits' around me now? Jesus Christ," she laughed, "would it make it easier for you if I put my suit back on and wore the mask around you?"

"No no no, I mean well, ya—no, ya don' hafta wear no mask 'round me. It's jus, well ya know how we all thought ya was a lad n' then all'a'suddn you're not. Just like that, you was a lass," he snapped his fingers, "Floored me. S'just diffrn't 'cause you're my best mate—uh, lass. Now since it ain't like that no more I can't just call ye my best _mate_." He eyed Pyro meaningfully. "But'che are, me best mate. Just not, wail, me _mate."_

Pyro thought about what he was trying to say. She supposed she understood but considered she might be way off. He was nervous around her now, because they'd been so close when he hadn't known, and wasn't sure if the status of 'best mate' could transfer genders.

She wanted everything to be the same between herself and Demo, even if that meant taking the silent role again. Pyro felt like this was a good time to do or say something meaningful, and tried her best to make Demo a bit more comfortable around her again, knowing that it would be the first few steps of a very long journey.

"I feel off sorts too you know. Everyone treats me different; they hold their tongues back, never used to before. It's like all of a sudden they all have to behave because there's a woman around. I don't want you to be like that. I'm your best mate, right? And I haven't changed, I've always been Pyro. You don't have to censor yourself around me and if I have to wear the mask again so you don't have to then fuck it. I will."

A glimmer of a real smile flashed across Demo's face before he covered it up. He nodded and shrugged, looking unsure of himself.

Pyro reclaimed the chalk and used it to write the letter 'C' on the black fabric. "You have everything you need now, right?"

Demo squinted and read the chalky text and stifled a snicker. "So, ye wannit jus like this one?" he pointed at the girl in the black dress.

"Yeah, just like that. Except, well," Pyro examined the calendar, "can you add a collar or something?"

Demo raised his eyebrow and the corners of his lips turned upwards. Pyro set him straight, "Not a _collar, _you perv I mean a high neck. You know, elegant. To hide the scars."

With a sullen, dissapointed nod Demo agreed. "Ai'll get'ta work, then. Go find'cherself some shoes, right lass? I'llecha know whennit's done."

Pyro smiled and turned to leave, but a question begging to be answered danced in her mind, "By the way," she twisted back to Demo, "how do you know how to sew?" she asked curiously.

"Somethin' I learned in the penitentiary. Learn new useful trades n' all that. 'Ey, my only other choice was cookin'," he laughed, Pyro caught a sorrowful shadow behind his eye.

"You were in prison?"

"Aye, served five years of'a death sen'ence. Long story, lass, n' I don't wanna bore ya with it now, not while I got a fancy dress ta make," he finished with a smile. Pyro hoped that the warmth that rushed to her cheeks was in anticipation of the fancy dress and not from the grin he gave her.

Pyro thanked Demo profusely and promised to make it up to him, eventually. She put her suit back on and stuffed her mask into her pocket. Before she closed the massive iron vault door behind her, she shouted across the warehouse to Demo, "You're going to dance with me, right?"


	28. Engineer's Previous Profession

**Hello all ^.^ All of your reviews are greatly appreciated!! You give me warm fuzzy butterflies in my belly. Hehehe.**

**I figure you've all waited long enough to learn about Engineer's past. So here it is! Well, almost all of it ;) Spy is sneaky-sneaky.  
**

* * *

It was seventeen hundred on a Friday night and Pyro wandered out of Demo's warehouse too giddy to just do nothing with the rest of her night. When she found herself in front of Spy's door, she couldn't help but to consider asking him about Engineer.

She hadn't yet engaged in a proper thought before Spy opened his door releasing a cloud of pungent, grey smoke that billowed into the hall, sending her into a small coughing fit.

"Mi amor, join me?"

Pyro wanted to ask if he always stalked the hallway or if he had been waiting for her. She entered the room and Spy removed some boxes from a chair and pulled it beside his desk. "I knew you wouldn't last long," he grinned, his cigarette bounced along his lips as he spoke.

"Yeah well, its important right?" she looked around. The room was much more cluttered than it had been the last time she'd visited.

"Incredibly," he smiled and eyed his guest, his hands in a steeple.

"Well, what do you have?" Pyro said flatly, trying to sound uninterested and annoyed rather than let loose her excitement to know more about Engineer and his flowers, and what they had to do with her.

Spy opened his desk drawer and removed a stack of unlabeled manila folders. He opened one and took a moment to study it in silence. "Right," he set the files on his lap. "Before our Engineer joined ze BLU field team, 'e worked for--"

"Can you just get to the part that concerns me? About the flowers?"

He smiled and set a hand on Pyro's forearm, "Patience, my love. You must know 'is past to understand ze present." He removed his cigarette, licked his lips and puffed at it again. "Now, let me back up just a bit. Do you know 'ow many arms BLU company 'as? Just 'ow far zheir tendrils reach?"

Pyro shook her head.

"Automotive, subterranean tunneling projects, government technology research, and oil to name just a few. Ze arms of BLU reach around ze world, in nearly every country and every government. 'Ow do you zhink zhey recruit zuch a wide variety of personnel? Now; our Engineer came from ze civilian portion of BLU, ze oil branch, to be precise. 'E designed, built, maintained and protected ze Texan oil wells owned by BLU for seven years, ze records show." He paused to smother his cigarette and light a fresh one.

"'E knew nozzing of ze field team. None of ze civilian branches do. In fact, very few know about exactly what _we_ do and 'ow we do eet, and oo our enemies are, which iz why when Engineer mistakenly stumbled upon our RED counterparts, 'e took eet into 'is own hands to deal wiz zhem."

"Wait, what? Our counterparts, you mean the RED field team? They went after Engineer? How did they know about him if he just a civilian? It doesn't make sense that they'd go after him when he was just an oil guy—"

"Ze wells were zheir target," Spy interrupted as he puffed at his cigarette. "RED attacked ze oil wells zhat BLU owned, 'oping zhey'd be destroyed and set back revenue, give zhem zomesing to be distracted by. What zhey didn't count on was meeting up wiz someone as intelligent and motivated as Engineer."

"So what happened?"

"Well," Spy sat up straight, "Ze REDs damaged one oil well ze first week, and Engineer 'ad eet repaired wizzin two days. Next, zhey bombed trois—three wells, one waz out of comizzion and ze ozzers 'e repaired fairly quickly. So, ze REDs come back to see zhat most of zheir work 'as been undone, ze wells repaired, and zhey do ze most idiotic zhing zhey could'ave done. Zhey showed zhemselves to 'im."

"Zhey wanted a look at 'im, so to know oo' to kill. Zhey shoud'ave kept secret zheir RED uniforms, 'as by ze next time zhey came around ze oil field, Engineer 'ad constructed a sentry to shoot only at a target wiz a specific shade crimson. Smart, no? Ze REDs thought so, zhat 'e was smart enough for zhem to kill."

Spy paused to remove the folders from his lap and stood to stretch his legs, purposefully leaving Pyro to her thoughts.

"They obviously failed. What happened then? What did he do?"

With a genial smile and swift fingers he retrieved the silver cigarette case from his pocket and chose one at random, placing it between his lips and offering one to Pyro. Pyro waved the case away and asked again, "What did they do to him?"

"Patience, my love. Eet iz a virtue." Spy took his seat and continued. "Before zhey were successful in killing 'im, Engineer 'ad researched zis – Reliable Excavation Demolition, and found nozzing but a harmless demolition company based in California. 'Owever, our Engineer iz much smarter, and zheir uniforms did not lie—Zhey were employees of RED and zhey were after ze Texan oil fields zhat BLU owned."

"Engineer, wiz 'is boundless craft and abil-a-tees," Spy mocked, "managed to track down ze wives of ze REDs zhat 'ad attacked his field, and—"

"But how did he know who to track down? How many were there and how would he find them by just barely seeing their faces?"

"Mi amour," he began patiently, his hands folded on his lap, "You do know zhat ze base iz covered by camera, no? Eet iz like zhat everywhere. All property owned by BLU iz under strict surveillance. Eet iz not a secret, and Engineer took advantage of zhis by reviewing ze footage to make sure 'e 'ad ze right men. Also ze one RED he managed to kill before zhey noticed ze sentry 'ad papers on 'im, but I digress—"

"That's a pretty big part to leave out don't you think?"

"Oui, since Ms. Blu 'eard about it she 'ad ze field teams sign a contract disallowing ze sharing of our civilian names."

Pyro squinted. "Are we talking about the same thing?"

"You're wondering about ze papers, oui?"

"No I mean you didn't tell me about the RED Engie killed with the sentry. It doesn't matter, just keep going. So he killed the RED, and found what kind of papers?"

"Ze paper 'ad been a letter to 'is wife. Wiz address, 'is name and children's names. Zhat was 'ow Engineer tracked ze rest down. 'E followed ze records of ze dead RED and discovered 'ow he got to be employed. From zhere, eet was not 'ard for 'im to find ze rest. Zhey all went to penitentiaries, and recruited by ze same man. I do not know 'oo zhat iz, so don't ask."

Pyro wanted to ask him to explain how Engineer managed to find all of this information by himself. It seemed farfetched. She knew Engineer wasn't stupid, but that didn't mean he had access to the specific records that told him where the REDs' lived, as they were probably kept very secret. Pyro suspected that Spy was leaving something out.

"Engineer found ze dead RED's wife, treated 'er to a fancy dinner, gave her a beautiful crimson, metal rose and sent 'er on 'er way, zhrough ze path of one of 'is sentries 'idden away. She never saw 'er death, I do 'ope it was quick," he bowed his head solemnly.

A sharp pain split through Pyro's tongue and she realized she'd been biting it. Was that true? Engineer purposefully tracked down and killed one of the REDs wives with a synthetic flower and carefully hidden sentry gun? It didn't seem like something their well spoken, gentleman Engineer would do.

"Seven ozzers were found in ze same way, 'olding a crimson artificial rose."


	29. A Brand New Soldier

Hello! And thank you for continuing to visit my story ;) All of your reviews are colossally appreciated!

To Whipsmart: Demoman has become my favorite, too. Originally I had no idea how to start the story, so I began with the character that I liked and knew the least, which was Demo. He quickly became one of the most entertaining to write about.

To ArmoredSoul: Vengeful! Muahaha. I enjoy playing a lot of Engineer, and when you get on those good streaks he says some pretty interesting stuff ("I'm gonna beat you like a rented mule, boy!") but it's not so much _what _he says, it's _how _he says it. And thinking of Pyro in a sparkly black dress makes me grin like an idiot, too ;x Oooh the fun I will have in the next coming chapters.

To Shiritorin: *Fuzzy butterfly tickley happy feeling* Hahaha, thank you! To be totally honest, I felt exactly the same. TF2 and romance was to me like trying to mix cake and Tabasco....Why do I feel like that's something Engineer would eat?

To Deathbybunnies: It would be incredibly funny if someone did die by a bunny. I would probably laugh very hard. I mean, I _would _laugh very hard. Sniper will certainly get more play time, but I dare not elaborate lest I spoil something good!

**QUESTION:** As I've been writing this I have produced a document consisting of the scrap/cut pieces of the story that I didn't feel fit or went in a different direction than I'd planned. I'm thinking of putting these all into their own chapter. I didn't have the heart to delete them, because some are kind of funny. Interested? If so, I'll post.

* * *

A few minutes past noon on Saturday the team loaded into the back of a military transport and sped north to the BLU outpost. An hour after being loaded into the truck, seven travel-sick men and one woman gratefully leapt from the back of the transport onto sturdy ground.

Engineer had to back track to the truck to wake up Demo, who had slept the whole ride there. "We're 'ere?" his eyes opened slowly, the bright desert sun reflecting off of the sand.

Inside the outpost they were given water, sandwiches and a piece of fruit each before the same tailor who had measured them delivered their suits in black tied boxes. Three men wearing black suits with the BLU logo on the breast ushered them into a small locker room to change; the tailor escorted Pyro to a separate room.

First dressed was Sniper, wearing his silk black and sapphire tuxedo with an untied bowtie hung around his neck. He folded up his cuffs and inspected himself in the mirror. Heavy's suit was also black silk but with blue trim on the sleeves and detailing the lapels, and the thick band around his gut was also solid blue. Engineer's outfit lacked the white tuxedo undershirt, replaced by a solid cobalt buttoned silk shirt under a black sports jacket. His pants which were also black did not have any pockets, leaving him at a loss of what to do with his hands. He tried unsuccessfully to flatten his mottled hair, stuck up in many directions from wearing his hard hat.

Scout's suit was black with navy pinstripes with a white undershirt and tie, although he hadn't looped the tie correctly and it came out looking more like a noose than a clothing accessory. He brought with him his black wool baker boy hat to cover his shaved head, which didn't match whatsoever.

Demo wore the kilt he'd made, mostly cerulean with black and grey plaid and what looked like a rabbit's foot dangled from a leather strap on his right. He pulled his blue and black argyle socks up to his knees and wore the silk shirt and black jacket the tailor crafted for him, completing his clash of solid, plaid and argyle patterns.

Apparently Spy hadn't needed a suit, as he already had many and simply wore his best one, although he did sport a new pair of white gloves.

All eyes turned to Medic as he emerged from behind a set of lockers wearing a completely white silk suit and blue tie. Scout shook his head and laughed, and nearly collapsed when Medic put on a black fedora complete with an azure feather six inches long. He picked the flower out of his front pocket and frowned at it, preferring his black pen (his scalpel had been confiscated).

As they returned to the lobby Pyro met up with them wearing her tuxedo jumpsuit and top hat. She was embarrassed when she saw no one else was wearing a hat like hers, and even more so because it was sewn on and she couldn't remove it. Hopefully BLU would be generous enough to provide an open bar and everyone would forget her stupid top hat by the end of the night.

No one would know except for Demoman that under her penguin-esque attire she wore the black dress folded up on her hips. Demo had done an excellent job; the dress was the perfect length and stretched to hug her just like the calendar girl's did. He obliged her request for a collar, so instead of straps the dress gathered at the neck forming a triangle. She planned on changing out of the penguin suit a while after she got to the meeting. With luck no one would recognize her except for her team.

They conversed in the lobby for a while, talking about what they were wearing and generally enthused about the change of pace from battle to boredom to a fancy party. They were interrupted by a parade of men in BLU uniforms emerging from the receptionist desk, with none other than their Soldier following close behind.

The air left Pyro's lungs the instant she set eyes on Soldier, not because she hadn't seen him in almost a week but because he looked like a bastardized version of the megalomaniac Soldier she'd known for so long. His posture was different, he stood straight and his index finger wasn't constantly pulling an invisible trigger. His hair was cut neat and short and he was clean shaven; his silk suit matched his azure eyes. He did manage to keep his helmet which he tucked under his right arm, and he was… smiling?

"If it isn't my good ol' brothers in arms!" he beamed, his new white teeth sparkled. "It's been so long I nearly forgot what you all looked like! Ha!" he slapped Engineer on the back. "Just kidding, I couldn't forget you. How's the trade, Engie? Any new inventions?"

Engineer gawked, speechless.

"I'll take that as a no!" he smiled again and moved around to each of them, making awkward friendly comments and acting completely un-Soldier like.

"Did they do that lobomee thing ta him? What's wrong wit his teeth?" Scout whispered to Medic. Like everyone else Scout had noticed that Soldier's teeth were all there – meaning, the ones that were missing, the side and a few bottom molar teeth – were now all present and accounted for. BLU must have done a dental overhaul in addition to whatever they'd done to persuade him to forget his violent, paranoid self.

"Lobotomy, and no. This is vorse," said Medic finished, quickly pulling his face into a smile as Soldier grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously. "How ya been, Doc? Bit of a change from the lab coat, eh?" he gestured to his white suit and laughed.

Pyro was incredibly thankful no one could see her horrified expression. Soldier was… Not Soldier anymore. He wasn't sullen and yelling and trying to convince them they were all going to die if they didn't listen to his well thought out battle tactics. That and he'd never _smiled _before_,_ only grinned maniacally. Now he wouldn't stop smiling, and it was giving Pyro the shivers.

"Does Soldier 'ave a brother?" Sniper leaned in toward Spy, who finished his third cigarette since Soldier met them in the lobby. "I zincerely 'ope zo," he sucked down his cigarette between his thumb and index fingers.

"Pyro!" Soldier shouted in a harsh, gruff voice more like his own, which was comforting and startling at the same time. "Pyro my friend," he grabbed her hand and held it in his, "great guy, this one!" he gave her an obvious wink and chuckled some more.

"So, uh, how was your stay?" Engineer asked timidly. Soldier whipped around and a flash of _his_ eyes, the real Soldier and not this imposter sparked. The spark ebbed and Soldier's face softened into his new façade. "Food is a bit like eating wood chips but other than that, I feel like I've accomplished something."

Apparently this was all Soldier had to say. Heavy slapped Soldier on the back and laughed, "Ms. Blu told us, that you had been on a vacation. I must say, I was wishing I were you!" Instead of twisting around and assaulting Heavy for this obvious intrusion of his personal space, Soldier returned the slap and laughed along with him.

Sniper thought he might vomit and turned away. Something terrible had happened to their Soldier, to the only man on their team who volunteered to personally attend to the front lines and intimidated the competition with his ghastly lack of self preservation and frightening accuracy with a shoulder mounted rocket launcher. Without him, a serious gap would be torn in their offense, making his job and everyone else's much more difficult.

Everyone shared a timorous stupor as they boarded the train that had arrived at the outpost to carry them to the BLU headquarters. Soldier did not complain for the entire trip, unlike the time when the team was given a "vacation" to Greenwater and he shouted and argued with everyone the whole time they were on the train. Medic had to threaten him with drugs just to get him aboard, but now he boarded peacefully, thanking the conductor with a broad smile and handshake before finding a seat. Traveling used to inspire the worst of Soldier's paranoia, but now he sat in contented silence with Sniper's crossword puzzle.

"Whad'ya think they did to him?" Sniper leaned over and asked Medic who had taken a seat beside him.

"Honestly?" Medic looked at Sniper, his eyes full of apprehension, "I von't be able to tell you until I get him back to ze base und get time alone vith him."

Sniper made a sour face and rotated to watch the speeding scenery outside. This whole thing was downright loony. How could everyone stay so calm when one of their own had a mysterious personality overhaul? Soldier wasn't his favorite person, but that didn't mean he deserved to be brainwashed. Sniper's jaw unhinged.

"They brainwashed 'im!! Tha's what they did, I know it!" he whispered harshly to the Doctor who had bent his head back and closed his eyes. "Nein," he replied without looking up, "zhere iz no such zhing as brainwashing. He'll be vine for ze night, I'll look after him vhen ve return to base."

"Don't be a piker; somethin's wrong n' you know it, I know it and the only one'oo doesn't is Soldier!"

Medic stirred incredibly quickly from his resting position and glared at Sniper, "Do not pour your scorn on me, Sniper. Ve are on a train headed north to ze BLU headquarters, zhis is _not _ze place ve vould vant our old Soldier to return to. It iz a blessing zhat he iz not screaming at us, und perhaps now he von't cause us to be disparaged by ze entire company."

"You're saying you're _glad_ he's like this?! Look at him! He took my crossword! He can't even spell his own goddamned name never mind figure out the capital of Sweden!"

Medic rose from his seat and yelled across the cabin, "Soldier! Vhat iz zhe capital of Sweden?"

"Thirty-six across, Stockholm!" Soldier replied boisterously without missing a beat.

He sat back down and gave Sniper a hint of a smug look. Sniper growled, "_Our _Soldier would have gone on about how Sweden didn't fight in the war and then start up one'a his stories about how he took on a whole company a Nazi's himself! I don't like Soldier but I _know_ him, and that ain't him!" he huffed and glared.

"Listen," Medic's face softened as he put his practiced empathy to use, "I know vhat you are feelingk. I am also concerned of him, but please, have trust in me. I cannot do a zhing vhile ve are out. I give you my vord I vill look him over vhen ve get back."

"Jeaasus Chriest!" Demoman spun around in his seat in front of Sniper and Medic wearing his eye patch over his good eye, leaving his empty one to scrunch and wrinkle as he yelled, "Wail you two shut tha hell up fer a goddamned minute! I'll blow all yer heads offa ya if ai can't get no sleep this whole damn ride!" he turned back into his row and grunted some more before leaning his head on the window.


	30. The Stockholder's Meeting

Bonne journée!

I was happy to find such useful reviews!

**ArmoredSoul**: It is the beginning of a wonderful new friendship.

**AriesLT**: *snickering softly*

**Deathbybunnies: **MS Theseaurus is to as vanilla ice cream is to triple-fudge-ultra-mocha-mint-induced-coffee Vermonster. What I'm trying to say is though I do try my best to pay attention to recycled words and phrases, I know a few slip by. I will do my best to catch them!

**iScoutRED 'TJ'**: Honestly, I didn't see that. I have this whole picture of Pyro in my head already, and I filled in the blanks but I guess left some of her personality to assumptions. I looked back on everything and tried to wipe my brain of my planned out portrait of Pyro, and found similar to what you did. I won't be rewriting anything but from here on I will be more specific about her actions and the reasons behind them. For the record, I did want to portray her as rather confused, or torn. She's not sure how to act, because she never really had to before. Does that make sense? Also I never wanted her to be offended by anyone calling her a woman, but rather offended because they don't think she can do the same as they can. The stripping/measurements thing, well, she wasn't exactly stripping for the tailor... It's what you have to do, get undressed so they can make sure everything fits right. Again I'll pay more attention to how all of this comes across. Who is my favorite? 166+ hours with Medic would be the deciding factor on that one. Engineer is a close second with 100+. I had a steam account before this one with 250+ Medic hours, but alas, I had to make my own profile. Do I have a life aside from TF2? *thinks hard* -- I'm going to answer yes on this one, since I'm not under oath.

**DracosEchidna**: Thank you ^.- Also, I play TF2 as much as possible. It's truly one of my favorite games, aside from… From… Uh… It's my favorite game. I shall add you ASAP.

**My Steam Profile: /profiles/76561198001256222**

**My TF2 Stats: /profiles/76561198001256222**

**UPDATE: MissGalaxia: Thank you!! I don't speak French at all, and I was apprehensive about the answer that the interwebs gave me. I appreciate your translation skills and have updated Spy's script accordingly ;D **

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"Welcome to the Builder's League United West Coast Assembly Center," Engineer read the sign aloud that hung below the BLU logo on the train platform. An enormous marble wall separated the blue tiled platform from the rest of the building which was only two stories tall. The team groaned and stretched in unison as they stepped off of their train. Engineer read the sign again aloud. Weren't they supposed to be going to H.Q? He shrugged it off and trailed behind the rest of the team.

A white man with a wired earpiece and dark glasses looked over a clipboard. "Field Unit, through these doors and take the elevator on the left," he said dutifully. The team followed his directions and found the elevator, where an attendant who could have passed for Scout's younger brother brought them down one floor.

Now in the lower lobby (as Engineer read for everyone when they exited the elevator) they were met by a group of security personnel who patted them down for weapons, confiscated Spy's silver cigarette case and interviewed them one by one in a small office that branched off from the lobby. They asked them a series of questions and took their fingerprints, presumably verifying their identities. When finished, the BLU personnel lead them to a lofty set of elegant gold enameled doors.

"Faincy shit 'ere, where's our golden doors?" Demoman rhetorically asked Pyro, who nodded.

Medic lead the front of the group, gliding into the high ceiling hall with his head held high. Everyone except for the Doctor gawked and gaped at the enormous hall filled with tables low and round like eloquent land mines surrounded by extravagantly dressed men and women. A stage on the right held a long table with plate sets, although no one had claimed them yet.

A man with slicked back blonde hair in a white suit greeted them and brought them to one of the land mine tables with a large glass vase in the center filled with multi colored glass jewels and gold wire twists. Heavy gathered two chairs to sit on leaving Demo to steal his from a nearby table. "There'sa bar 'ere right?" Demo twisted around in his seat and bobbed hopefully.

Pyro peered around to the adjacent tables. To their right, closer to the stage a group of men spoke quickly with English accents. One plump, posh looking man wore a top hat and golden monocle, resting his arm on a thick black cane topped with a white eagle. Pyro couldn't help but laugh.

The table behind was only half full, seating five women in elegant sparkling dresses speaking in what sounded like French. She noticed Spy all too obviously glancing in their direction. He showed them his most charming smile, and a few of them returned the look.

Engineer had a grin plastered in his face as he looked around to each of the tables, kindly nodding when anyone returned his gaze. He looked giddy and excited like a child at his own birthday party. Heavy studied the shiny silverware and gold banner plates, leaving his dinner set at jaunted angles. Medic leaned over to him and adjusted his silverware and whispered something inaudible above the chatter filling the hall. Heavy nodded and folded his hands on his lap.

A few moments after sitting down, a white-suited butler appeared beside their table; "May I interest you in something to dr—"

"Scotch, no rocks," Demo barged, a grin on his face. "Oh, 'ey make it two," he held up two fingers.

Engineer ordered a whisky sour, Heavy a vodka and Medic asked for water (Demo looked appalled). Spy a Chardonnay, Sniper an Irish coffee and Scout wanted one stout, one pale ale, a shot of tequila and two cups of coffee, black. Soldier asked for sparkling fruit juice. Demo nearly slid out of his fancy chair, he stared at Soldier with his mouth wide open.

When it was Pyro's turn to order, Medic (who was sitting to her right) leaned in and she whispered to him what she wanted. "Bloody Mary," he told the waiter and pointed to Pyro.

They received their drinks and conversations flourished. Medic appeared especially enthusiastic as he turned to the table behind him and spoke to Mr. Monocle in German.

Spy's drink remained untouched as he introduced himself to the French ladies and was now offering them cigarettes from a gold case that the man who patted him down must have missed. Everyone was talking excitedly, even Soldier made small talk with Engineer.

"So if ya don't mind me askin'," Engineer began with a subdued voice as he leaned in close to Soldier, "What did ya do on your uh—your vacation?"

"Well," Soldier placed his hand on Engineer's shoulder like a father might to their son, "Let's just say I escaped the cage of madness. It was a long, arduous trip, one that I've been battling for _years," _he shook his finger and looked at Engineer as if he should understand what he was talking about.

"You see, there are two soldiers in every man, and it's a fight, a _war _to be the one who sees the outside world," his eyes closed briefly. "You're talking to victor of that war."

Engineer smiled awkwardly and nodded, completely lost. Never had he heard Soldier say anything with such articulation, even if it made no sense what so ever. It did fit him oddly enough, because nothing he said ever begged to reason.

BLU had somehow given him the gift of refined sentence structure, and he spoke how a college professor might. His explanation however was as constructive as reading an abstract poetry pamphlet. Engineer assumed that even if someone were available to explain to him what Soldier was trying to say, it would be no more comforting than anything he'd ever declared up to the time the company took him away.

Pyro idly adjusted her silverware and tried not to attract too much attention. That was difficult, seeing how she was in a tuxedo, wearing a matching mask and could have passed for a character out of an H.G. Wells novel. Demoman plucked one of the glass gems from the decorative vas on the table and stealthily threw it at Pyro, knocking her top hat. She pretended to look around unknowingly, pointed at her hat and shrugged at him.

It was a strange feeling to be around so many people at once. Demo tried to forget the last time he'd been surrounded by such a large crowd. He was asked incriminating questions by well-paid men in Armani suits who conducted the assembly into mournful woes by telling the appalling tale of his conviction. He hoped they were all dead, preferably packaged in rusty soup cans buried deep in unmarked garbage heaps. Demo closed his eyes and blinked away the court room and stared at Pyro. She wasn't looking back, but he couldn't tell even if she had been. Her head tilted to look over her shoulders, clandestinely glancing at Spy and the girls who couldn't seem to get enough of his charming, suave—_Sonovabitch_, Demo growled into the ice of his scotch.

Why was she so worried about him, anyway? He obviously wasn't interested. Demo swallowed a piece of ice and it caught in his throat, choking him as it slowly melted away leaving a sore spot whenever he drank. He reminded himself to shove an entire bucket of ice down the throat of the waiter who gave him scotch on the rocks and not just scotch like he'd asked for.

He quickly changed the grimace on his face and raised his glass and looked pointedly at Pyro. She picked her Bloody Mary with its celery decoration and lifted it in reply to him. He downed his scotch and stood up, giving her a knowing nod and ventured through the network of tables and disappeared into the lobby. A few women gave him strange looks as he walked by, leaning back into their table to discuss to their well-dressed company just how well-dressed they were, and how shabbily dressed _he_ was.

Pyro's lips twisted into a smile. She practically leapt from her chair, knocking Sniper in the elbow and sloshing his drink onto an empty plate. She apologized and gave him her napkin that was wrapped around her silverware—clinking it clumsily for a few seconds before Sniper took it from her and in an irritated tone implored her to let him take care of it. Then she dashed off to find Demoman.

They acted like they didn't know each other when they arrived in the lobby, skipping the niceties of tipping your hat or nodding when in close proximity to someone you don't know. They parted ways, and Demoman captured the attention of the boy in the white suit who guarded the lobby with a flurry of purposefully circular conversation. "So 'ey, wha' they payin' ya? I betcha meet a lot of dames 'ere, 'ey? Ha—only kiddin'! But really," he pushed the boy with a heavy hand so his back faced the women's Powder Room (that's what it was labeled, to Pyro's dismay—"Powder Room") so Pyro could sneak inside.

She entered the room and checked for occupants, and finding none she removed the suit as well as the men's dress shoes, stood on top of one of the toilets and stuffed her wardrobe into a ceiling panel where she was confident no one would go looking. She flattened down her dress and inspected herself in the enormous room-length mirror.

The dress was positively stunning, but she couldn't help but feel vulnerable while she wore it. It dropped to her feet and touched the ground slightly, which she was glad because she was going to tread barefoot. It felt bizarre not wearing something that was twenty pounds and covered her entirely. And the most daunting question of all, how was she supposed to run in this?

She flipped her hair over the left side of her face and patted it down with water to hide the scars. As she looked over her reflection again, a wave of insecurity struck her; a cold draft that washed away the warmth inside and left her hollow. She was cold and bare, nervous and shaky, but snapped herself out of it. It was no time to be worrisome. She'd go back to the table and down her Bloody Mary, show her dress, eat some great food and be back into the suit before the night was over and fall asleep on the train to the base.

But why was it so frightening a prospect to confront of a mass of people who meant nothing to her? _Because I won't be killing them, _a raspy voice in her mind told her, reminding her all too well of Ms. Blu's intonation. Pyro gathered the bits of courage scattered about by her worry. She looked herself over once more before taking a deep breath and cautiously tip-toed back into the lobby.

"So I says to 'im, I say, 'I'm drunk! _You _don't have an excuse!' Ha!" Demoman doubled over and laughed, the boy in front of him mimicked him—poorly. "Oh, there's tha' lass. Gotta be goin' b'fore she 'as my good eye, too!" he slapped him on the shoulder and paraded up to a slightly trembling Pyro. The boy looked around, startled. When did a woman pass by him?

"I don't think I can do this," she whispered under her breath through the veil of her hair that covered her left side.

A great grin spread over Demo's face, his mouth curved and he looked her up and down. "Bloody fantastic," he growled, ignoring her statement. "An' th' dress ain't too bad, either," he nudged her and smirked. Pyro beamed nervously. "Yer ten times the lass compared ta those ones innere," he assured her, having sensed her anxiety. "Now, muh laidy," he offered her his arm and she stared at it, not knowing what to do. Demo laughed and put her hand on his arm for her.

"C'mon, I spen' all night on it, humor me," he pleaded. She smiled at him and nodded, pulling her head and posture upright. "There ya go, lass."

The couple walked back into the hall together and Pyro half expected the room to erupt in outrage and chaos, with the guests screaming and running frantically for the exit or any safe haven away from the monster waltzing into their presence. Surprisingly, she didn't notice any of the other guests so much as glance at them as they took their seat at their table with the rest of the team. She thought she felt eyes on her back as she passed the tables, but ignored it as paranoia.

Engineer did a double take when he saw her, and he along with the rest of the team ogled her before she whispered jokingly, "Better shut your mouths before someone lands a grenade in them." They laughed and complimented her, albeit awkwardly. Demoman gave her a nod, and his wide grin that he put on while in the lobby hadn't disappeared yet.

"You uhh—ya know, look pretty—uh, nice, pretty nice. Yeah," Scout stammered and looked away. He sat backwards in the chair, leaning it dangerously close to the table while balancing it on two legs.

"You gonna ask'er ta' dance, lad?" Demo goaded Scout who quickly turned a deep shade of red and hastily drank his shot.

Pyro was happy enough that the room was dark and probably made the ridges of her scars appear softer. Again an uncomfortable fear reared its repulsive head, and she thought she caught guests having quick looks at her out of the corner of her eye, but decided to pay no attention – she didn't know those assholes and would hopefully never see them again.

It wasn't until she looked over to the table where Spy was sitting with the French women that she got a taste of what she'd gotten herself into. Spy was staring directly at her, turned in his chair with a cigarette forgotten in his mouth, burned down to the filter so it was a stick of grey ash. The women had noticed his lack of discussion and it appeared they were trying to figure out what he was distracted by.

One of the women in a green sparkling gown with excessive amounts of gold jewelry put a hand on his forearm; Spy jolted in surprise, his ash cigarette disintegrated onto his suit. He frowned at the woman and swept the dust from his jacket with the edge of the table cloth, and then without a word of farewell to the French ladies, rose from his seat and strode purposefully toward Pyro.

He regained his posture and the spellbound stare was replaced with one of resolution. "_Vous êtes plus belle que n'importe quelle femme sur terre," _Spy spoke smoothly. The ladies at the table leaned in to hear him and their faces twisted in revolt; they huddled together and prattled furiously in soft, hasty French.

Pyro raised an eyebrow and replied in a purposefully clumsy accent, "Par-ley voo Eenglaise?"

Spy genuinely smiled, his cheeks rose and he watched her adoringly. For some reason when she butchered his language it was amusing to him.

He leaned over and whispered quietly so no one else would hear, "You are more beautiful zhan any woman on Earth."

Pyro hadn't time to think of a witty response, but she needn't have to. The woman in the green dress marched over and stood between Spy and Pyro, and smacked Spy across the face. Everyone at their table broke their conversations to stare at Spy, a bright red welt already appearing athwart his cheek.

When the French lady stormed off they erupted into laugher, a few of the nearby guests who'd witnessed the smack joined in as well. Mr. Monocle chuckled and said something to Medic in German which was evidently very funny.

"You oughtta get some ice on that," Engineer laughed. Spy smiled slightly, hardly looking embarrassed.

He began again, undeterred, "'Eef you would be kind enough to forgive me, I would be honored to dance wiz ze belle of ze ball at some point in ze night." He beamed and returned to his seat with the rest of the team without waiting for her answer.

A while later, the waiters brought out appetizers, little plates of shrimps and other shelled sea animals Pyro wasn't sure about. She found it difficult not to concentrate on how she was sitting, where her hands were suppose to be, if and when she should be smiling and looking around at other women to figure out the right mannerisms. She'd been in some type of military service since she was nineteen, and you didn't have to worry about which fork to use first in a mess hall. _This is stupid, _she thought sullenly.

Engineer watched her as she tried to decide if she should use the little fork or the tall one, or the one with only three prongs when he told her, "Start outward and work your way in." She thanked him.

"Some kind of stockholder's meetin', right?" Engineer continued while he had her attention.

"Yeah, I wonder if they have these every year."

Engineer shrugged and stirred the ice in his empty drink glass. He wanted to know why she looked so nervous, jittery, waiting for something to happen. A tiny voice in the back of his mind whispered something that had nothing to do with his current predicament, and he ushered it away and continued thinking on Pyro. The little voice came back, a bit louder.

_Do you smell that?_ It asked Engineer.

_She shouldn't be so nervous, she looks great. _He ignored the voice.

_It smells like something dangerous… _

_Pardon me, _Engineer said in his mind, _but fuck off, _he told the voice.

"Ey, Engie, ya smell that?" Demoman tapped the set of plates in front of Engineer. "Black powder, if I ain't goin' Soldier on ya."

Engineer glanced at Solder who was conversing with a man in a pale grey tuxedo at another table. "I meant _crazy,_ ya know," Demoman pointed out.

"Why would black powder be here?" Engineer asked.

"Can't tell ya." Demo set his second drink down and tapped Heavy's shoulder and whispered a question. Heavy nodded and furrowed his brow, then lifted the white table cloth to investigate the underside of the table.

Before they could say anymore about the mysterious, musty charcoal scent reminiscent of black powder, a click and a buzz emitted from the speaker system in the hall, followed by an echoing screech and then silence. A young man in a white shirt, tie and dress pants stood at the podium on the stage holding a silver microphone. "May I have your attention," he asked politely.

"I'd like to start off by thanking you all for coming," he smiled gauchely, his hand gripping the microphone tight. With his free hand he reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a folded sheet of paper. He opened it and studied it briefly, then continued in a callow voice, "I'd also appreciate your full cooperation, to help make our night together as pleasant as possible."

"The hell is that supposta mean?" Engineer asked no one in general.

"Don't look now," Spy said quietly, "But zhey are closing ze doors." He told the table. Indeed the waiters in white were leaving and closing the doors behind them. They were being shut in. Something wasn't right.

The young man glanced at the area behind the stage where the guests could not see. He turned back, his face a bit red, sweat gleamed from his brow. "I would like to introduce to you a man," he trembled, "who really needs no introduction—" he fumbled with the microphone sending stuffy crackling over the system.

Engineer felt that there was something ultimately wrong before he heard it. A _thunk _like the blast of a gargantuan firework resonated in his chest, that deafening warble of the air that shakes everything it touches within its radius. His heart stopped for a fraction of a second, long enough for the sound of the massive explosion to catch up with its escaping energy. Engineer instinctively tucked head below his arms but he could still hear the sound of wet, chunky rain pursuing the blast, like the sound of something organic, blood-filled and squishy that had spontaneously erupted without any forethought to where it's millions of once carefully organized pieces expelled.

Engineer lifted his arms and looked at the stage. The young man was gone, in his place a red, gelatinized mound that only barely evaded the description of 'jell-o' due to the white angular splinters sticking out of it.

The room collectively took a breath, only to let it out again in the form of frantic, riotous garble. The guests at the foremost of the stage leapt from their seats, covered in smatterings of crimson drops and shards of white. Screaming filled the room in symphony with clattering silverware, smashing plates and trampling toward the doors. The French women at the table behind the team ran past Pyro in a blur, knocking their elbows against anyone in the way and plowing their petite frames through gaps in the crowd, the cliché guideline of women and children first perpetuating in their self-centered escape plan.

Amidst the panic and the pointless pounding on the gold enameled doors, Engineer thought he heard Demoman laughing. He looked to his team mate who was doing nothing of the sort, yet the familiar laughing persisted. Demoman looked gaunt at the stage, a scowl on his lips and his eye socket twitching. Engineer switched to the podium, where a pale man in a bright red uniform with hair and thick beard to match laughed, laughed, laughed.

He held a box in his hand. A detonator. What startled Engineer the most, took the breath out of his lungs faster than any explosion ever could was the logo on the arm band of his suit, a classic spherical bomb with a sparking fuse above the words _Reliable Excavation Demolition._

The RED demolition man dug into the organic goo pile on the stage as if it were a mass of ice cream and candy and not the liquefied remains of a human being, drawing from it a saturated microphone. He didn't even bother to wipe away the bits of grotesque webbing dangling from the grip. "Best notta pray," he yelled into it, his hands enveloped in red that matched his uniform, "Et neva' help't nobody b'fore!"

_Pardon me, _the voice in Engineer growled angrily above the pandemonium besieging the hall, _but fucking pay attention next time._


	31. A Diplomatic Approach

**Special thanks to Skye, who assisted me with coming up with the title for this chapter without even knowing what it was about.**

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"C'mon, this was supposta' be a _fun _night!" the red-haired Scotsman laughed into the microphone as he threw a sinister looking black orb into the crowd, which collided with the back of someone's head before falling to the floor with a _thunk_. "Nice catch, knuckle'ead!" his voice echoed.

Without instruction each member of the BLU field team dispersed, first finding improvised weaponry and then moving to separate locations in the hall while staying low so to not be noticed by the RED Scotsman, who was now singing a terrible rendition of Neil Sedaka's _Calendar Girl_ on his blood drenched microphone. When he began the chorus he stuck his foot into the grim mess on the stage, then kicked his leg out and flung indistinguishable body fragments over the tables inciting a title wave of fearful, disgusted screams from the pompous, combat virgins hoarding en mass at the doors.

Medic claimed the nearest set of silverware and took cover beneath the table. He removed his jacket and began tearing it into strips, gathering them into a bundle and tying the group into his belt knowing some point in the night he'll probably need tourniquets. A quick survey of discarded personal items under nearby tables revealed a pair of stepped on reading glasses and a golden pocket watch with a long chain, all of which he hastily collected into a lady's black sequin purse that he found beside the reading classes.

Scout tore the leg off of an upturned table, pulled a dinner knife out of its wooden handle and with Heavy's assistance, shoved the knife into the end of the table leg producing a crude bayonet. Heavy himself tore away the remaining three table legs and bound them into a single, menacing looking club using a length of his own jacket that he tore into a strip, inspired by Medic's use of his attire.

A box of abandoned cigars at a Mr. Monacle's table caught Pyro's attention, not because she was preparing for a celebration but because a cigar box usually meant matches. She emptied the case and located two packs of fifty-count premium redhead matches, only one of which was opened. On her return trip to the team's table she nearly tripped over a black cane with an ivory eagle atop it. She recognized it as the one Mr. Monocle had, and since wasn't anywhere to be found she took that with her, too.

A container of oyster forks was all that Sniper found that he'd wanted to keep, aside from a very nice gold ring that he somewhat guiltily pocketed with the subtle intent of finding its owner at a less hazardous time. Sniper stuffed the container in his right jacket pocket, and in a quick-draw action just like the western cowboys on TV he plucked a fork from its vessel and pitched it at the wall where it stuck.

Engineer found himself with only a knife. He tossed it from hand to hand, missing the weight of his wrench. If only he had a sentry, this whole thing would already be over with. He was proficient with machinery, not hand to hand combat with silverware and furniture scraps, and it didn't take a psychic to foresee the barbaric warfare in their immediate future. He jumped ahead of the battle, and decided to plan their escape instead. They'd need to use the train to get back to base, and as far as he knew he was the only one with any idea of how to conduct a train, and probably the only one with a regular driver's license, too. Engineer tucked his knife into his belt loop and scuttled over to Medic.

"I'mma find a way out, gonna get to the train n' get it ready," Engineer stated. Medic, who had been digging through the black sequin purse pulled himself away from it and handed him the golden pocket watch he'd found.

"Take zhis. If ve are not out in an hour und half zhen leave vithout us," Medic told him. "Und bring Scout vith you," he added as Scout sidestepped into their vicinity.

"Where'mi goin'?" Scout asked, wringing his hands around his knife-topped table leg.

"To the train, let's go," Engineer crept away from the two, but stopped when Scout let out a protesting whine.

"No frickin' way I'm leavin' a fight," he stared down Engineer, waiting for him to argue.

"Zhis is not ze time to argue, boy! If somezing happens to Engineer or ze train iz no good, zhere is novone else who could _run _back to base und notify Ms. Blu," Medic growled.

"_Run_ back ta base? That'd take me like two frickin' days!"

"No one else vould even make it half vay," the Doctor explained earnestly, fixing upon Scout with a stern glare. Scout chewed on his lip and his face twitched, aggravated that he was being sent away to fetch help like a dog. He looked from Medic to Engineer, and then took a deep breath. "Alright. Let' go." Scout turned away from Medic and dashed toward the back of the hall, ducking below the tables. Engineer nodded at Medic before following Scout.

"I am here for you, Doktor." Medic twisted around in his crouched position to find Heavy behind him with his sleeves rolled up and brandishing a mass of table legs. "Zhis is going to be rather difficult. Ve must remain hidden until zhe last possible moment," he explained without hesitation. They would have to come up with a distraction, something considerable enough to divert the RED's attention so Heavy could take the demoman out and not get dressed with an explosive like the boy on the podium. Any other day the duo would already be out in the center of attention, but without the life saving stream of the Medigun they had no choice but to beseech a finer strategy.

"Thait's tha' bastard who blasted me fookin' legs," Demo growled to Sniper as they hauled a hefty, unconscious civilian behind a blockade of turned over tables. "Goddamn sonova mother fu—"

"Get 'is legs," Sniper interrupted. They laid down the civilian beside two others and Sniper waved to Medic, who ducked his way over to them.

Some of the guests had taken to groups, crying and yelling and huddling together. A gather of men remained steadfast at the large doors, beating at them with chair legs, hoping brute force would get them on the other side.

Two of the bravest civilians picked up the bombs the RED had thrown and tossed them to the far end of the hall where the rolled ominously below a group of chairs. Demo made a note of where they'd ended up.

Medic searched the pockets of the hefty man just as he'd done to the other two his team mates had brought over. Inside he found a flat, gold colored disk the size of a quarter. It was completely smooth except for a number engraved on the edge, _26_.

He frowned and tried to bend it, tapped it against a chair leg, even smelled it. It didn't look suspicious, and he would have disregarded it completely if he hadn't found two others just like it on the other civilians, _25_ and _19._

Sniper and Demoman managed to drag over another civilian and Medic discovered a gold disk on her as well, stuffed inside the small purse tied around her wrist.

Medic removed his own jacket and searched through every pocket. Nothing. He placed it flat on the ground and rubbed his hands over it. Again, nothing. He inspected one of the disks he'd taken from one of the civilians and studied it, then tore the gold buttons off of his expensive, white silk jacket and tapped each one in turn on a table leg and compared it with one of the numbered disks until he heard what he was looking for; a matching _plink _just like the disk.

"Give me your jacket," he urged Sniper as he brought yet another body. A quick search of Sniper's apparel revealed another disk, although his was black to match the jacket buttons.

"Noooo no, I ain't givin' none o' my clothes to ya, crazy," Demoman pulled back from Medic's outstretched hand. Medic glared and ground his teeth. Demo grumbled and complained, argued to the Doctor who remained unresponsive except for his cold stare until he finally gave up his jacket. Medic found another disk disguised as a black button.

"Whas that?" asked Demo.

Medic studied the disks pensively, folding the group of them in his hand. "Tracking devices."

"Why were they in our suits?" Sniper went to take one of the disks from Medic who withdrew his hand away. "To track us," he answered plainly.

"Our battle attire is equipped vith ze same sort of devices in ze event of our capture or if ve are damaged on ze field and unable to call for assistance. Zheir position can be monitored from a computer in ze base."

"Doc," Sniper gulped down the saliva collecting in his mouth from forgetting to close it, "Why weren't we told we 'ad tracking disks? And why do _they _have them?" he motioned toward the unconscious civilians.

Medic sank into a stream of thoughts, all of which were not the happy, lighthearted dinner party thoughts he hoped he'd be having this night. His mind switched into the cold, calculating abstraction that had kept him alive all these years.

"Ve can assume zhat zhe disks on us vere put here by BLU—"

"The hell you mean, by BLU?" Demo asked.

"Because ve are required to have zhem vile off base as vell as in battle. It vas stated in our contract," Medic explained to a glowering Demoman. "Zhis iz not surprising to me zhat zhey are in our suits. I am not sure vhy ze civilians have zhem as vell. Unless—"

"They b'long ta BLU too, right? So they should have 'em!" argued Demoman.

"I doubt it," Medic answered. "It's possible zhat RED planted zhese on zhem, the reason vhy eludes me—"

"Maybe Ms. Blu 'ad 'em carry 'em just in case," Sniper suggested. Medic had begun to ask Sniper why he thought Ms. Blu would do this, but a woman's high pitched scream drowned out his thoughts. He looked over to the cloud of dust; the RED Scotsman sauntered through it, parting guests like dirty oil through water.

* * *

A few tables away from Medic, Pyro huddled with her legs crossed as she snapped match heads off of their sticks, separating them into piles. When she'd produced a handful of red tips she emptied out a cigar, rolling it between her hands to loosen the tobacco and discarding it on the floor. She packed the empty cigar with match heads, twisted the end shut and licked it closed. It took her less than five minutes to produce two match head packed cigars. She left herself with two complete matches to light them. Pyro fully understood the precariousness of setting off a fire in a closed off space, but the thought of burning alive was not as fear inspiring as letting the REDs get away after destroying BLU.

"Pyro?" a hand lifted the brim of the table cloth and Soldier's head appeared below it. He heaved a sigh of relief and joined her under the table. Pyro watched him curiously as he crouched beside her, rubbing his hands together and looking from side to side nervously. She stared him down until he caught her gaze, and then looked back to her cigars. "What?" he asked, freezing in place. Pyro shrugged tried not to shake her head at him. She packed the unused cigars back into the box and began to crawl out from under the table.

"Wait!" hollered Soldier, grabbing Pyro's ankle quickly before he realized what he was doing and promptly let it go. "Wait, I—"

"Are you going to come with me?"

"Out into the open with that crazy guy? I'm going to stay right here and you should, too!" he trembled as he spoke and gripped the carpet with white knuckles. Pyro slapped him across the face. She waited for him to yell at her, to shout or dive at her throat, anything the real Soldier might have done but it was all for naught; Soldier just looked at her with fear in his eyes. He really wasn't Soldier anymore, he was someone else. Even as such Pyro couldn't just leave him there without a weapon. She grabbed Mr. Monocle's black cane with the ivory eagle and shoved it into Solder's arms. "Here. Just—Just hit someone with it if you get in trouble, ok?"

He looked at her and down at the cane, dumbstruck. Pyro grunted and trudged toward the stage. An explosion shook the building and she heard gun fire. Guests remained pinned against door, screaming. Why would BLU have such a poorly guarded meeting? Especially when the meeting was for all of the people who held stock, who controlled the company; something hadn't been right with this from the start…

The red-haired Scotsman tossed black orbs into the crowd as they continued ramming into the doors. The ones affront tried to get away from the bombs but the ones in the back knew nothing of the explosive danger and pushed onward, creating a fumbling mash of confusion. The Scotsman laughed, so much like their Demoman's laugh yet with a slightly unfamiliar enunciation. His voice was shallower, less raspy and predominantly white sounding.

He held the detonator in his fist and grinned vehemently, knowing that with the slightest effort he could skin the entire hall red. "'Ay! Why'e all nervous, huh? Didn'cha see wha'appen ta' the last guy? Now, whay don'che all just go'ahead, n' line up right over 'ere," he growled into the microphone with mock politeness. The guests looked petrified.

On her elbows and belly Pyro slithered through the maze of shattered wood and silverware, smashed plates with little shrimps that'd never meet their dinner destiny. She held the ends of the cigars with her teeth and surveyed the stage from shadowy cover. A light above her had been shattered; filmy white glass glittered on the carpet. The stage was bright and the air above it sparkled, filled with plaster dust from the ceiling above mixed in with the thick grey smoke from the explosions. She studied the stage and saw a spot she could climb up and slide behind a bulge of blue curtains. Pyro nearly jumped out of her skin when someone tapped her on the shoulder.

"Come with us, we're going to the train," Engineer whispered to her. Scout sat on his knees and kept an eye out for unwanted visitors.

"I'm not going with you."

"Now see here—" Engineer began.

"Whatthefuckyesyouare!" Scout spat and grabbed Pyro's arm, "Let's go!"

Pyro twisted her twist against his thumb and broke Scout's grip. "You'll be fucking crazy to follow me, and if you do it won't be them who fucks you up, it'll be me." she pushed away from Scout. He shook his head and looked like he wanted to drag her against her will, but another explosion shook the walls and Pyro fell onto her back. "I've got to stay here, especially if both of you are leaving. We don't stand a chance with just six men against who knows how many RED."

Scout peered anxiously into Pyro's eyes. He wiped his hands on his pants and without warning, fell into Pyro, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing. "Don't you fuckin' die, you hear me?" He backed away without a word of explanation and disappeared.

Engineer looked back at her sadly, but didn't try to dissuade her. He wanted to do the same, to hold her for just a second and give her words of assurance, but he wasn't convinced he'd be doing that to make her feel better rather than to build confidence in himself. He stared at her, silently wishing that they both make it back alive. He gave her a brief nod and followed Scout.

"Now, mai new friends," the RED demoman hopped from the stage and waded through the tables toward the doors. "Lads in tha' back, ladies n' the front! Don' ya go tryin' ta' pull nothin' else I'll blow ya ta' pieces!" he kicked two black orbs into the crowd as they hustled against the wall.

* * *

Scout and Engineer crawled to the very back of the hall, through the legs of tables and chairs until they reached the wall farthest from the stage. Engineer knocked on it, "Solid here, keep checking." They continued knocking until Scout got Engineer's attention by throwing a well aimed fork at his feet. "C'mere!"

Another explosion shook the room; everything was silent for a few seconds after the blast. The chaos started up again and Engineer breathed easy. Scout bashed in the wall with his table leg, revealing a narrow space with a vent shaft pressed against it. Scout didn't hesitate to began stuffing himself into the passage.

Once Scout was through, Engineer followed and squeezed through the gap in the wall, sucking his stomach in tight and wiggling through. Scout was already standing up, wedged between an impossibly small space with the wall against his back and ventilation shaft at his front.

"Jesus," Engineer grunted and pulled himself through, huffing.

"It ain't so bad, c'mon," Scout urged, shimmying along. His pinstripe suit was covered in dust; he held his hat so it wouldn't fall.

"Yeah fer you n' all your ninety pounds it ain't a problem," he complained.

"A good sprint now n' then wouldn't hurt ya!" Scout laughed, his face flattened against the vent.

Engineer wedged himself to stand upright. "If I weren't stuck I'd strangle you."

They continued through the wall, trying to figure out in near complete darkness where they might be in position to the train platform. Scout somehow managed to spider-walk his way up the wall and vent to a thin space against the ceiling, and urged Engineer to follow.

"Goddamnit," Engineer swore as his silk suit caught on a nail and tore his left pant leg. He gradually pulled himself up to Scout although it took considerably longer. He cursed and wiped his forehead, the space was hot and stuffy, and dust coated the inside of his mouth.

As they were crawling along the shaft against the ceiling Scout, who was leading the way, asked Engineer, "Why'djoo let her go?"

"'Cause there ain't no way of changing her mind without doin' what BLU did ta' Soldier."

"You've only known her fer lika month, how you know you couldn't—"

"She's been with us for years," he gasped as he tried to flatten himself to squeeze beneath a support beam, "Ain't no convincing her a nothin' if she got her mind set on somethin' else."

"Yeah, well, you coulda tried."

Engineer kept quiet instead of pointing out to him that _he _could have done something, too. He tried to focus on how annoying Scout could be at times, but it didn't help to distract him from worrying about what Pyro was doing. She would try and get to the RED, and do what? Finesse them into spilling their secrets, letting everyone go and writing a formal apology letter? She'd have better luck going back in time and asking Jesus Christ himself to do it for her. His heart sped up. He didn't want her to end up like the pile of human mush on the stage. He didn't want any of his team to end up like that.

"So rumor has it she saved you from certain insanity. How's that work?" Engineer asked as they met the wall of the building and began descending to ground level. Scout didn't reply. Engineer repeated himself.

"It's fuckin' dumb and we got shit to do," he found a vent shaft wide enough for a very large rat or small dog to fit through and peered into the night, "Found the train. Let's get outta here." Eventually they found another vent to the outside world that was adequate for them to squeeze through. Engineer lay on the sandy ground outside and caught his breath. "You should," _pant, pant,_ "you should thank her at least."

"I'll tell ya what," Scout helped Engineer off of the ground; "if we all make it outta here I'll bake a fuckin' cake, alright?"

Engineer laughed and dusted himself off. They crept toward the train and peered through the window of the conductor's booth; empty. After just a moment of wiggling the dinner knife Engineer had pocketed into the lip of a window it jerked free and they climbed inside. As Engineer prepared the train while Scout checked the other cars for unwanted passengers, he glanced at the golden pocket watch Medic had given him; a half hour had already passed since they left the hall. He returned it to his pocket. He couldn't help but brood over his conversation with Scout as he checked the gages and got familiar with their transport. He wasn't sure what to think of it; they'd had an entire conversation about Pyro without saying her name once.


	32. This is MY Rocket Launcher

Hello! And welcome back to Darker Shades of BLU. Tonight, an exciting action-packed super ultra mega extensively bloody tale of.. Well, I'll just let you read it.

**Numbuh six-sixtysix:** If you could hear the sound that I made after I read your comment, you would think that I belong in a mental institution. Luckily, no one was around for it and I don't plan on replicating it. It was something crossed between an excessively excited shriek and the sound I think a chipmunk would make if you squeezed it too tightly. Your comment gives me profound happiness and is greatly appreciated. Thank you ^.^

_

* * *

This is MY rocket launcher! There are many like it, but mine is the best! With this tool of righteousness I will shower the earth with the blood of my enemy!_

Soldier's face twisted and scrunched as he hunched alone below a dinner table. His hands shook from the sounds around him, explosions and crying, chaos induced horror. Visions of places he'd never been and faces he'd never seen before flickered in the lights of his eyes. He gripped the black cane Pyro had given him. Ever since he'd woken up at BLU headquarters with a splitting headache and near blank memory, he couldn't shake the creeping feeling that he was constantly under scrutiny by an internal observer.

_Soldiers' are the hands of God's America, this is my home and I will protect it! _

Soldier shook his head. "Stop that," he said aloud. For the past few days he heard talking in his mind. At first it was faint, and would only speak up when he was falling into sleep. It didn't take long for the voice to grow louder, and to intrude into his consciousness during daylight hours.

The Soldier inside of him, a grim portrait of patriotism that mocked is every thought and conception barked commands and snarled malignantly.

_Get off your ass and GET OUT THERE! I will not accept NO for an answer, Private Twinkletoes! _

"I said stop!" he growled. Whoever it was inside of him gave him an ill feeling. He was a shadow that clawed at him, exhibiting memories that were not his onto a projector in the back of his mind. Soldier had been told by the doctors that when this happened, if it ever did, to ignore the voice and whatever it tried to show him.

_You can't ask a Nazi to stop butchering freedom just like you can't ask ME to leave your skull intact! You are a disgrace to the uniform! You are the sorriest excuse for a soldier I have ever seen! If I didn't share a body with you, I'd kill you myself!_

Soldier cocked his head to one side in bewilderment. He tried to bring up happy memories to distract him, but found none. His brain was a blank book, and as he skimmed through it with an increasingly poignant condition, the shadow seized the opportunity and penetrated him.

_He held a man's throat in his hands, his face dripping blood and scraps of skin peeling away like scales off a dying fish. His fancy red striped suit was blotched with blood and burns. A sense of pride, power and accomplishment elevated him. This man was going to die right in front of him, by his very hands and the ecstasy from knowing that was astronomical. He shook the man and growled, bared his teeth and glared into the eyes of his enemy. "Bon voyage, crouton!" he squeezed his throat and the man let out a gurgling cough, using his last bit of life to kick his feet and claw at the hand that captured him. _

"Get out-get out-get out!" Soldier tore at his face, swore inwardly and ground his teeth so tightly he thought they might shatter. It was then that he realized the shadow inside him would stop at nothing to break out of his cage.

* * *

The RED demolition man paced affront his terrified company, gesturing crudely at the women and scoffing, ridiculing the men. If anything was more fear-provoking and bestial in this world, these affluent, stuffy aristocrats had not seen it.

"Please, sir!" a woman in a black cocktail dress, matching fur coated hat and sparkling silver jewelry fell to her knees in front of the demoman and pleaded with tears in her eyes; "I'll give you anything you want—My husband, he's wealthy, he'll do anything just as long as you don't hurt me."

A sordid grin stretched along the demoman's face as he unhurriedly ambled to the kneeling woman, who had begun to tremble and sniffle, not bothering to wipe the streams of water running from her cheeks. The RED sauntered to her, indifferent to personal space he stood directly in front of her, his hips equal height with her weeping face. He swayed, licked his lips drew his hand to his chin thoughtfully, and then bent down and snatched the woman's jaw.

He twisted her face left and right, inspecting her. She yelped and sniveled and he tightened his grip; "Yer not a screamer," he drew in close, his breath blowing concentrated alcohol through tawny teeth, "Are ya?"

The woman vibrated with fear, she hyperventilated through her nose and her lips quivered uselessly in his grip. She managed to shake her head left and right, and a frown grew upon the RED's face. He shoved her back unsympathetically; "S'too bad, I like the screamers," he leaned back and a cackle rumbled out of his body.

When he settled back into his robust, antagonistic demeanor he yelled unexpectedly. "Raaaaat!"

The RED eyed the sobbing woman as she crumpled to the floor, impulsively wobbling in trepidation. His eyes rolled over her perversely, starting at her legs and up to her neck. A rough looking boy emerged from the back of the stage, hopping from it soundlessly and carried himself to the demoman.

"Whachu need, Boss?" a boy with a bullet torn face and crooked grin leered over the guests, settling on the woman in the black dress. His gangly frame, lofty stature and corrupt snarl made him look like a Twilight-zone version of the BLU Scout. The demoman gestured with his head to the woman, and after all of the excitement and horror she'd endured her mind decided that it could take no more, and she fainted. The boy called 'Rat' laughed.

"Got ourselves a souvenir! Make sure she don't get away," the demoman directed the boy, who didn't hesitate to sneak his hands around the woman's torso and lift her over his shoulder. "Don't go spoilin' 'er either, ya hear me!" the demoman shouted as his comrade returned behind the stage carrying the unconscious woman on his back.

In the safety of relative darkness, Pyro watched the scene progress in a statuesque scrutiny. She had no comment or discerning emotion over what she'd witnessed, and no ideas of poetic justice perpetuated what she'd planned on doing. Her mind cleared a uniform void. She forgot her dress, her anxiety, and her bemused presumption of the situation favoring it for the inflexible, remorseless divinity hardening her blood into liquid steel. She even forgot she was a woman. None of her physical veracities influenced her resilient tenacity; Pyro was an established eradicator of RED, of whatever entity threatened her existence.

The RED was alone. He was blood waiting to warm her hands. His cohort, the Rat boy dragged away the distraction and the demoman was continuing his promenade. This was her chance.

Three steps got her out from under the table, over the next and on an obstacle free course leading directly to her target. In mid sprint she lit the end of one of her cigars and held it in her fist, the other waiting to be set alight she bit in her mouth horizontally like a dagger. Sound did not penetrate her; time stood still. Her bare feet collected glass shards but she did not falter. Her determination did not wane.

"What tha fuck is she doin?!" Sniper said all too loudly as he peered above the ridge of a table. Medic, Demoman and Heavy watched Pyro as she dashed for the RED, whose back was turned to her.

Pyro prepared her right elbow like a blunt spear, her arm bent and secured with her left arm and as she came to be a body's length away from the RED, she leapt into the air, aiming for the crook of her target's neck. In a flash the demoman twisted, his arm rose in defense and deflected the brunt of her blow, but failed to avert the now sparking, crackling incendiary cigar that Pyro managed to swiftly set into an ammunition pocket in her enemy's uniform.

Pyro fell with a _crunch,_ her back bent on something hard and rail shaped. The pocket of the demoman smoldered and embers burned holes through the fabric; in an instant the cigar ignited fully, setting off each match head in a flash of white, glowing smoke. The RED yelled something incoherent and tore away his utility belt, but the rest of his uniform had already begun to kindle. He rolled to the floor, scraping at the individually blazing match heads that scattered into the folds of his shirt, pants and copious beard.

"GO-GO-GO!" shouted Pyro as she rolled off of the leg of the turned over table she'd landed on. She struggled to keep her eyes bared, only closing them tight in pain when she was sure that her support had realized the situation and emerged from their hideout in exemplified fury.

Heavy, with the speed and embodiment of an armored ox stormed from the gather of tables in which he'd hidden, his foot falls quaking the floor with every colossal stride. He roared and charged wielding a collection of table legs bound into a single club with strips of his silk jacket and a table cloth. He wound it back to strike as he approached the RED demolition man, rolling on the floor still trying to extinguish his uniform.

With a single, purposeful swing Heavy slammed the club into legs of his enemy. His face became stanch and he did not scream, despite both of his knees now bent opposite to what they should. Still ablaze and now broken, the demolition man seethed. Heavy fell to his side and crushed the club up against the RED's neck, "Is bad day for you, little man!"

The RED spat blood into Heavy's face. Medic appeared at the demoman's side and set his hand on Heavy's club before he choked the life out of the man on the floor. "My apologies for mein friend's beastly nature," Medic smiled, or rather, bared his teeth in an uncouth fashion as he removed a dinner knife from his pocket. He leisurely folded his sleeves up his forearms, his soon-to-be patient watching him with hatred burning in his eyes, and then pushed the knife against the RED's ear. With one tactful slice Medic separated the ear it from his head. Crimson liquid squirted onto the carpet, soaking into Medic's white pants and spattering onto his hands.

"Did you need zhat?" he picked up the ear from the carpet and tossed it carelessly behind him. The demolition man growled and squirmed, choking on Heavy's club and snapping his teeth together relentlessly.

Pyro watched them from her spot on the floor, gripping at her torso. Something had cracked when she landed, and it was beginning to throb. The guests could not decide which was more interesting to gape at; the man in the white suit cutting the ear off of the man who threatened to blow them up, held down by a brute who they were sure was part bear, or the red haired woman in the black dress who had appeared out of now where, taken down the Scotsman and somehow set him ablaze. Pyro winced as she attempted to get into a sitting position, biting down hard on the cigar still wedged between her teeth.

"Miss! Miss you shouldn't move," a man in a grey suit broke from the crowed and rushed over to her. The rest of the people looked around apprehensively, as if he were crazy to get involved. "Stay back," Sniper rose to his full height, coming into view from his hiding place with Demoman. The man in the suit froze at Pyro's side. He'd set his hand under her head and adjusted her arm by her side.

"Sir, she needs a doctor," the man said sincerely, genuine concern in his voice.

"I am a doctor, she vill be vine, let her be," Medic raised his hand but did not turn away from the RED before him, watching him bleed out, his movement becoming slow and his skin losing its color.

The man in grey looked appalled, the fine age lines around his cheeks creasing with aversion. He looked back at Pyro, who grimaced as she set her hand on her would-be savior's. "I appreciate the help," she grunted. "I'll be fine."

With nauseating fortitude Pyro lifted herself upright. Sniper strode over to Pyro and the man in grey. "Thanks, mate but we don' know who you are. Don't know if yer w'onna _them_," Sniper pointed to the RED that Heavy had pinned. The man blanched and feebly lurched back to the wall with the other guests, eager to prove that he wasn't affiliated with the crazy man who ruined their dinner party and blew someone up.

"Sniper," addressed Medic, "Bind her torso vith your jacket und a splint. Keep her vith you."

Sniper nodded and Pyro leaned on his shoulder, and they made their way to where Demoman resided behind the flipped up tables. Before she was out of sight Pyro locked eyes with the man in the grey suit and gave him a thankful nod, which he hesitatingly returned.

Medic grinned brashly at the RED below his knife. "Tell me, vhere are your friends und vhy haven't zhey come yet?"

The RED smiled, his teeth stained with blood, "Cuz I dinn't tell 'em to, ya fuckin' Krout."

Medic turned the knife onto the demoman's other ear and brusquely removed it, then waited. The Scotsman bit his own tongue and blood poured from his mouth, down the sides of his face. He spit the bloody section of his tongue into Medic's face.

With swift hands and knife work worth of a surgeon serial killer, Medic rid the Scotsman of his nose, one eye and flayed the skin off of his right forearm. The Doctor continued, chopping, slicing and carving into the RED long after Heavy had withdrawn himself and the Scotsman's life had departed him, along with every small appendage Medic was able to remove with a fairly dull dinner knife.

When he was finished, Medic rose from the desecrated corpse at his feet. He kicked it once and then spat on it, and threw the knife down. The Doctor looked over his hands and gently wiped them on a handkerchief folded in his pocket, also taking care to delicately wipe the blood spatter from his face. He folded the cloth, tucked it into his pocket and shamelessly nodded to the guests that kept an eye on him; meaning the ones who hadn't taken to purging their half-eaten dinners and/or had fled to other sections of the hall.

Medic sighed contently as he meandered to Sniper, Demoman and Pyro. He felt satisfied and complete, savoring the wholesome replete sensation that only came to him after a slaughter. His blood felt warm and his mind clear and sharp like a diamond. He felt every cell inside of him alive, bursting with vigorous, invincible energy. It had been such a long time since he'd fed the demon within him, and it rewarded his efforts with galvanized animation.

While Medic's interior shined with gruesome glory, Pyro's insides burned with it. The injuries she sustained were taking their toll. Her adrenaline had run dry, pain relentlessly replacing it. She grit her teeth and braced herself, unable to follow Sniper's commands to relax. How could she relax when her back was cracked in two?

"Ye'll be fine, lass," Demoman held a glass of water to her lips; where he'd found it she didn't care to ask.

When Medic returned to them, he inspected Pyro's injuries with careful, deliberate movements. It was painful but she did not complain; she took a page from Soldier's book, reciting his advice that "Pain does not hurt."

"Where's Soldier?" she asked suddenly, and the men gathered about her looked to each other inquisitively. No one knew where Soldier was.

"He was under a table near ours," Pyro winced, "last I saw him."

Sniper rose from their spot and made his way through the maze of tables, pulling away the white table cloths on each, looking below them for their missing team mate. He discovered Soldier below a table in the middle of the room, still holding on to the black cane Pyro had given him, muttering disjointedly to himself.

"Found 'im!" Sniper shouted back, pointing down at the table. "Hey, Sol c'mon, we 'afta get outta here," the Australian urged. When Soldier didn't acknowledge him he gave him a slight prod with the toe of his shoe, quickly retreating a safe distance back once he'd done so. "Let's go, we're heading back to base."

Soldier continued muttering to himself, apparently unaware that anyone else existed. Sniper shrugged to Medic and Demoman who had stood to watch Sniper in the event of an ambush, or if some other ill-timed affair arose. Nothing did, and Soldier seemed steadfast to speak as quickly and unintelligibly as possible.

Sniper tried pushing him with his feet, calling him names ("Get off yer ass ya pickle-headed drongo!" ) all with not so much as a sideways glance from Soldier. When it came to the point where Sniper considered that his efforts were all in vain and he'd have to resort to carrying his team mate away, he sighed and shouted to Medic and Demoman that there was nothing else he could to do.

"He's not doin' a thing, other than rambling to 'imself," Sniper looked down sadly at his once vibrant, furiously passionate associate, "Soldier's gone AWOL; might as well be a civilian for all he's worth to us, now."

A lot can happen in thirty seconds. Sometimes, even more can happen in twenty. However, only ten seconds had lapsed between the time the word "civilian" came out of Sniper's mouth and the instant that the table in front of him, the one where Soldier had refused to move from, violently flipped onto its side.

It was _Soldier. _Not the temporary replacement Soldier, the _real _one. He seized the ivory eagle cane and roared; his eyes broad with his war face at the ready. "Holy shit!" Sniper leapt away, stumbled backwards over a chair clutched his hat to his head and raced for safety.

"Did you find him?" Pyro whispered to Medic and Demoman, whose wide open jaws threatened to remain permanently unfastened. They didn't answer Pyro, their attention stuck on Soldier whose deafening bellow had finally ceased.

Soldier huffed, panted and growled. His chest heaved as he gathered in his surroundings, trying to figure out where he was, what was going on, why he was holding a cane with an eagle atop it, and most importantly…

"WHERE IS MY FUCKING HELMET?!"


	33. Not Our Finest Moment

**Hello and welcome to our next installment of Darker Shades of BLU! **

**As always, thank you for reading and reviews are always appreciated!**

**The towns/cities mentioned in this chapter are _real _places. Just google earth them!\**

**Here's another sentence ending in an exclamation point!  
**

* * *

Balmy air ventilated through the slits of the train windows barely drying the beads of sweat seeping from Engineer's forehead. He wiped a sleeve over his face, worsening his already stinging skin and slathering the salty liquid into his eyes, angry that he didn't have his goggles. Where was the team? He checked the gold pocket watch; an hour and ten minutes had passed since he and Scout had parted ways with their colleagues.

Scout bided his time by pacing along the length of the conductor's cabin, stopping only to dip his head below the brim of the window and listen for movement. The fourth time he ducked his head and placed his ear through the windowed space Engineer kicked his shin.

"Stop that, you're makin' me nervous!" whispered Engineer.

Scout snarled and balled up his fist, staring down Engineer. His face quickly softened back into worry and he turned to gaze at the solemn moonlit shadow of the BLU West Coast Assembly Center.

"What the fuck _was_ all that?" Scout motioned to the building. He paused to rub his hands over his face, then flung them away in annoyance and shouted again, "I mean, what the fuck?!"

Engineer pursed his lips and involuntarily cracked his knuckles. "I don't know."

"No one knows nothin' 'bout this shit," he grumbled as he fell into the co-conductor's chair. "Havin' a great fuckin' time in base with nothin'a do, RED don't do shit for a month but as soon as we go to some dumbass meeting they—"

"Shh!" Engineer interrupted, pushing Scout with his arm.

"Don't you fuckin' shush me—"

"Quiet!" The Texan urged, boring his eyes into Scout. The two sat in silence until the sound of sandy footsteps set both of their blood surging. Engineer focused on window, squinting into the darkness and blinking excessively to keep his sight fresh.

The gritty crawl ceased and Engineer clutched the arm rests on his chair in anxious anticipation. He heard a faint whisper above the desert breeze, "_What is beauty?"_

Engineer's shoulders immediately fell with relief and replied genially, "I solve practical problems, and that would fall within the purview of your conundrums of philosophy."

Spy appeared outside the train window in a flutter of grey smoke, his jacket and sleeves soaked in blood that glistened in the moonlight. "We 'ave little time. Get ze train ready, ze ozzers will be along shortly." He disappeared without another word, the sounds of his footsteps fading away in the direction of the BLU building.

Scout turned to his team mate, his face twisted in concern, "Preview of condrums of wha? Whassat mean?"

"Heheh," Engineer smiled, his heart skipping a beat knowing that everyone was all right. "Best make that cake a chocolate one, boy."

* * *

Twenty minutes after Spy had rendezvous with the train Engineer opened the passenger door to allow Medic and Sniper carry Pyro inside. After they were safely in the cabin Engineer poked his head out of the door at the sound of scuffling and swearing; Heavy and Demoman had Soldier by the arms and legs, dragging him to the train as he kicked and twisted and fought to break free, screaming obscenities and threatening to destroy them if they didn't put him down and let him back into the assembly center to rescue his helmet.

It took the additional effort of Engineer, Scout and Medic to force him into the cabin, pry his calloused fingers from the train doorway and buckle him into an empty seat at the back of the train.

"Bloody psycho," Sniper wiped a spat of blood from the fat lip Soldier had given him, "Kinda wish we 'ad the other guy back," he caught smug look from Medic.

Once the cabin door was shut and locked Engineer took control of their transport and set off down the tracks, both thankful and in disbelief that they'd all managed to get out alive. He would have expressed his gratification with words, but Soldier's shouting drowned out pretty much every other sound except for the chugging of the engine.

Pyro lay over two front most seats with one arm over her eyes and the other dropped over the edge and onto the floor. Medic took to the bench opposite her and watched with his hands folded onto his crossed legs, serenity diffusing his face. He replayed his time with the RED demoman, his mouth salivating as a tingly spark rolled through his nerves.

Sniper rubbed his temples and tapped his foot on the train floor, jittery because not only had he not had coffee in more than two hours but because Scout was sitting beside him, onslaughts of stupid questions falling out of his mouth like coins out of a jackpot slot machine.

"You think they planned it? How they know we were gonna be there? I think Pyro's gunna be okay but uh what 'bout Solly?" he twisted around, Soldier was crooning the national anthem so boisterously his face was turning red.

"Why's the Doc got blood all ova'im? Wha he do? Issat Pyro's blood? Di'joo get 'urt? Why's Demo wearin' a skirt, anyway?"

Sniper ground his teeth and shut his eyes tight, wishing Scout into oblivion. What he wanted to do more than anything was knock Scout's teeth out, stop the train and get off in the middle of nowhere, far from any REDs – or BLUs, for that matter – and spend the rest of his life perfecting the art of composed nothingness.

Heavy looked around to his team, all of which expressed varying degrees of tension and displeasure. He fumbled with an open cut on his forearm, pressing the skin together and watching it slide apart when he let go. He noticed Medic giving him a slanted glare and let go of the wound all together, redirecting his attention to Soldier who was finally beginning to lose his voice, scratchily declaring that everyone except for him was a blood sucking Nazi.

"Doc," Pyro's voice wavered, her vision blurred, "I'm cold."

Medic reached over the gap between the benches and touched Pyro's hand. He scrunched his forehead, which only made Pyro more uneasy. The Doctor released her hand and disappeared to the front of the car, returning a moment later with Engineer who opened the emergency supply closet, pulling from it a wool blanket and handed it to Medic, who spread it over Pyro and tucked her beneath it.

"Don't try to move. Relax. I vill be back in a moment," he told her, and followed Engineer back to the conductor's cabin.

"Ve must detour," Medic stated as he rubbed his hands together and looked around the cabin for a map.

"Detour? For all we know those REDs are followin' us. We got away too easy if ya ask me."

"Pyro vill not make it back to base, her internal bleeding is vorse zhan I zhought und I cannot care for her vithout medical supplies."

"Pyro _what?_" Demoman blared, appearing from behind the unlocked door separating the train cars.

"She has internal vounds, ve must detour to ze closest hospital," reiterated Medic with urgency.

"Doc it's not that I don't care 'bout Pyro but we gotta tell Ms. Blu what just happened, n' RED might be followin' us—"

Medic interrupted Engineer, "_Vergessen dass die hündin!" _he shouted, a lock of hair falling into his face as he shook. He closed his eyes and gathered himself, running his hand through his hair while Demo and Engineer glared at him. "I vill not allow anyvone to die under my responsibility. Ve are _goingk _to detour. Find ze closest town and _get us zhere," _he stormed from the cabin without another word.

"She gonna die?" Demo asked Engineer, who couldn't bring his voice to work and only replied with a shrug. He turned away to distract himself with Medic's orders and swallowed the rock in his throat. If Pyro's life relied on his getting them to a hospital then he would do so even if he had to carry her there himself.

* * *

"Beatty City, twenty miles," Engineer whispered inaudibly below the rumbling engine as the worn emerald sign declaring the next station sped by the train. He focused on the yellowing map spread across the control dash. It did not show any train tracks to or from Beatty city, or anywhere around yet the sign they'd passed told him otherwise. He referenced the map again, hoping to discover a clue as to where they'd come from that was south and west of them, finding only two answers.

"Chloride city," he brushed his finger over a small dot a half inch below Beatty, "or Leadfield." Engineer pulled at his chin, the lines of his crow's feet drawing out like the skewed, unlabeled paths of the map in front of him. Someone knocked on the conductor's door and Engineer acknowledged them, "Yeah."

He heard the door squeak open and close, followed by the sound of patterned footsteps and a _clunk _between them.

"Progress?" Spy asked, leaning on a black cane topped with something white on top spattered with red.

"'Bout a few minutes from Beatty city," he answered, returning his attention to the map.

"Ahh," Spy hummed. "We must 'ave been at ze base in Leadfield."

Engineer swiveled in his chair, "What?"

"I said, we must 'ave been at ze base in Leadfield."

"I know whachu said. How do you know that's where we were?"

Spy smiled smugly, the way he usually did when he knew something someone else did not. "It waz not a base, per say, razzer zhan a remote office and storage fa-cil-a-tee zhat waz compromised about a decade ago."

"You _knew _that an' ya still let us go?!" Engineer erupted, knowing he should be upset at Ms. Blu because she ordered them there, but released his anger toward Spy since he was partially responsible and in his direct vicinity.

The Frenchman stifled a yawn and brushed nonexistent dust from his lapel. "Ms. Blu's word iz law, 'ow could I contradict her?"

"Sleazy fuckin' snake," Engineer said under his breath, "You knew this was gonna happen, didn' ya?"

"For ze record, no."

"Yeah what about off th' record, huh?"

"I knew nozzing about zhis before we left ze base, I assure you," Spy explained astringently.

Engineer seethed. "What do you mean you didn't know _before _we left the base?"

With a sigh Spy set himself in the co-conductor's chair and rested the black cane against the armrest. "When we met up wiz ze tailor, we were not checked for weapons as Ms. Blu originally instructed. When we arrived at our destination, ze suits did not confiscate my knife," Spy revealed his black butterfly knife from a pocket inside his jacket, "or my ozzer disguise kit," the gold cigarette case appeared in his other hand.

"And the watch?" asked Engineer.

"And ze watch," Spy pulled up his sleeve revealing his most valuable device.

"She knew this was gonna happen. She knew RED would get word and attack us, so she made sure we went. What I don't get," Engineer cracked his knuckles again, "is why she didn't tell us in the first place."

"Zhink about 'Eavy, about 'ow impertinent 'e would 'ave been eef 'e knew we were waltzing into an ambush. What eef ze REDs never came? We would 'ave tottered zhrough what would 'ave been a lovely night always looking over our shoulders. Ms. Blu took ze chance to send us zhere unarmed and unawares because eef nozzing did 'appen zhen paranoia would 'ave gotten ze best of us. Ze most panicky of us might 'ave blown cover and attacked a civilian."

Spy made a solid argument. Ms. Blu must not have been certain anything was going to happen, but even if there was a chance – which she obviously knew there was – why did she allow the stockholders to be thrown into mortal danger? Engineer pondered this for a while and Spy tagged along, though his face was not consumed with woe.

"In case you are wondering, which I zhink you are, none of ze men and women 'ad anyzhing to do wiz BLU. Zhey were rich decoys. I zhink zhey zhought eet waz a party for ze governor."

"So you're saying Ms. Blu was _baiting _us?" the dubious accusation left Engineer's mouth before he realized just what he was suggesting. Spy smiled curtly and looked out of the train window. "She waz baiting _zhem._ Ze RED. 'Ow could zhey resist an opportunity to damage us so greatly?"

"Entering Beatty city," Engineer announced, reading another weathered sign. Spy nodded and stood to leave.

"Now I wanna finish this conversation later, ya hear?" Engineer spoke to Spy's back as he departed the cabin, closing the door behind him.

* * *

Heavy stepped off of the train at three-thirty in the morning holding Pyro in his arms as Medic stuck to his side, giving him orders and instructing him to hold her gently, not to squeeze and to "valk as if you vere gliding," which earned the Doctor a bout of dubious silence from the bearlike Russian.

By three forty-five he had carried her across the desolate wooden platform into the center of Beatty city, which was more like a quaint town than a bustling metropolis. Demoman, Sniper and Spy accompanied them until they found the hospital at four o'clock. They huddled together in the shadow of the building, just around the corner of the entrance.

"I vill bring her in," Medic stated with a nod as he held his arms out toward Heavy, waiting for him to hand Pyro over.

"Now wait justa goddamn minute!" Demo stood in front of Medic. "Looka'cha! Yer covered in blood, they'reonna think ya tried ta do 'er in!" he pointed to his blood drenched white pants, sleeves and spattered shirt. Even his glasses had specs of evidence from his incident with the RED demolition man.

"Don't be stupid, she has no open vounds, vhere vould ze blood have come from?" Medic heatedly retorted.

"It don't matter _where _it came from, it makes ya look guilty! Give 'er here, I'll take 'er in," offered Demo with his arms outstretched toward Heavy.

"You! And vhat vould you say you are to her?" Medic gave Demo a light shove away from Heavy.

"Me? I'll say I'm 'er husband!" yelled Demo as he pushed him back.

"HAH! You! A Negro Cyclops wearin' a skirt! Husband! Bah!"

"Hey now," Sniper intervened, "That kinda talk'll get'cha a wallop, Doc."

Demo ground his teeth, "without that faincy coat n' a knife you ain't nothin' but a butcher wit'a faggy accent! I'll tear ya'da pieces ya goddamn freak show!"

"Gentlemen," Spy stepped between the two. Demo looked like he would launch himself through Spy to get to the Doctor if only he given him just one more reason. "You bring up a valid point," Spy nodded to Demoman, "Ze blood does make Medic look guilty."

"HA!" barked Demo.

"But I vould 'ave a hard time believing zhat you're ze husband of a white woman eef I lived in a desolate, probably mostly white town, like zhis one." Demoman's head fell but he continued to glower.

"Doctor," Spy turned back to Medic, "You should remove ze clothes eef you plan on taking 'er to ze 'ospital."

"Zhat vould be a fantastic idea, mein friend!" Medic affirmed with mock enthusiasm, "But I don't have any clothes on under zhis," he finished meanly.

"Well now you 'ave somezhing in common, no?" Spy teased mirthfully as he looked from Medic to Demo and back again.

"Kilts 're diff'rnt than goin' commando, ya sicko. It's traditional."

"Hey, guys?" Sniper tried to intervene but his attempt went overlooked.

"Traditional for a _mann liebhaber,"_ Medic scowled. Spy caught himself from laughing, transforming his outburst into a cough.

"What?" Demo looked around to them, "Wha the 'ell you call me?!" he clenched his fists.

"Hey, blokes you should—"

"Stay outta this, Sniper!" Demoman growled, "Now what the hell is a man leave-aber?! I'mma split yer fuckin' heads in if ya don't—"

"It's nozzing, Demo, I assure you." Spy tried to persuade him. "We 'ave wasted enough time. Sniper, you're ze only one wizzout any blood on you, _and_ you're Caucasian," Demo gave Spy a cruel look, "why don't you bring Pyro into ze 'ospital?"

Sniper set his hand on his brow and snarled, "Ya goddamn wackers, that's what I've been trying to tell you! While you was yabberin' Heavy brought 'er in!"

Medic, Demo and Spy looked at each other in disbelief, scouring down the dark alley and peaking around the corner to the hospital entrance, waiting for some sort of inconsistency to arise disproving what was becoming increasingly obvious; Heavy and his parcel were nowhere to be found.


	34. The Black Mercedes and Idle Hands

Corrupt Justice: It is indeed "Saxton Hale" -- I checked everywhere, and even google corrects me if I search for "saxon hale"

No rage required ;D

/wiki/Saxton

* * *

**TUESDAY (Five days prior to the BLU Stockholder's meeting)**

Spy set his tie as he did each morning and at least four or five times a day. Nothing he did outside of battle could ever do so much as move the straight beam of fabric a fraction of an inch, but there he was, twisting and adjusting it so it could be potentially more symmetrical and perfect, though that was impossible.

It was Tuesday, and Ms. Blu wanted to brief him, and he alone, on the Stockholder's meeting to be held next Saturday. Spy obliged. He shared few words with anyone that day. He was nursing a black eye and crushed nose, and sincerely hoped that this would not impress upon Ms. Blu negatively.

The elevator carried him to the desert surface and he stepped out of the concrete shelter where a shiny black Mercedes was waiting for him. The windows were tinted dark and the entire vehicle gleamed like liquid oil. He allowed himself to grin wildly; perhaps Ms. Blu was happier with him than he'd assumed.

Spy stepped into the driver's seat of the black Mercedes and sped towards the BLU outpost. An hour later, he'd arrived. He parked his car in the employee parking lot. A sign at the guard post announced that the one-story building belonged to Goldstream Fuel Company, which was yet another BLU alias. It was just generic enough for any lost civilian who'd wandered into the area to read the sign and forget, and never, ever wonder or suspect that some of the most powerful people on Earth were just three stories beneath them, sipping expensive imported coffee while planning the future of the stock market, sending their underpaid mercenaries to their deaths, and enjoying every second of their grip on America, her enemies and the world.

Except for Japan. Spytech Industries had made that clear. BLU and RED were to stay out of Japan.

He figured that if he ever got out of BLU, which was unlikely, he would learn Japanese and move to the largest island, and never have anything to do with the Builder's League for the rest of his life. He wore this happy thought on his face as he greeted Ms. Blu, and someone else he hadn't expected.

"Saxton Hale," Spy greeted with a deep bow. He knew better than to shake this man's hand. He'd only have it broken again.

* * *

**PRESENT DAY**

Engineer lounged in the passenger car of the BLU transport train and clicked his tongue, tapped his feet, snapped his fingers; anything to keep him from jumping up and pacing suspiciously throughout the train car. He'd already checked the train's fluids, skimmed over the conductor's manual, and even fixed the window frame that he and Scout had jammed the knife into when they broke into the train. He couldn't find anything else to keep him occupied, and it was driving him crazy.

Engineer was biding his time on the train with Scout and Soldier, as the rest of the team had dispersed almost instantly after they'd arrived. Scout had ventured away too, but not for long and he returned with a stack of magazines and newspapers and was sorting through them in the privacy of the end of the car. Engineer had initially gone to take a look at his catch, but Scout hoarded them greedily and refused to let Engineer look.

Scout's reason became obvious when one of the magazines had slipped from the pile and Engineer caught a glimpse of an open page. He wasn't sure what it was he was looking at exactly, but he was confident that any magazine picturing a woman who put herself into something that tight, rubbery and black and posed in shoes that looked like railroad spikes was probably not the kind of intellectually stimulating material that would keep him occupied for more than ten minutes.

Soldier had found his helmet. Or rather, Scout had found Soldier's helmet and only let Engineer know that he did when he offhandedly inquired as to why he was hiding it from him. It was beneath the seat Soldier had originally sat in on the way to the stockholder's meeting. When he finally got a hold of it, Soldier fastened to his head and shouted himself crimson that he was going to destroy the pansy-yellow-coward-sonofabitch-no-good-nazi-scum that took control over his mind and hid his helmet, because that's what he'd assumed had happened and neither Scour nor Engineer wanted to explain otherwise.

Engineer pulled from his pocket the golden watch that Medic had given him at the BLU Assembly Center and checked the time. It was five-thirty in the afternoon. He polished the watch face on his silk shirt before returning it to his pocket. He closed his eyes with the intent of a cat nap, but when he woke up again it was dark out and his stomach rumbled hungrily. Engineer checked the watch again; now it was five after eight. He stood, stretched and moseyed to the back of the train where Scout and Soldier were sniggering, ducked low behind a row of seats with a flash light beaming onto the ceiling. He could only imagine their entertainment.

The car door clicked and slid open and Engineer twisted around hopefully, but it was only Spy. He had a thick welt across his cheek in the shape of a small hand. At the end of the thin red fingers there were crescent-moon shaped cuts. Engineer sat down in the adjacent row and gave him a curt nod that Spy returned.

"Any news on Pyro?" Engineer asked, trying to sound calm.

"Heavy brought 'er into ze 'ospital at around four. I parted ways with Medic, Demo and Sniper after zhat. I do not know what 'as been 'appening."

Engineer cocked an eyebrow but Spy had already turned away to remove his jacket and fold it beside him. "I assume that isn't the same hand print the nice French lady at the meeting gave you?" Spy turned and Engineer expected a glare, but Spy had broken a smile instead. "No, eet iz not."

He left it at that, and Engineer did not prod further. Spy had a rather smug, satisfied grin that didn't disappear for the next half hour, so Engineer had a good idea what he had been up to for the better part of the day in Beatty City.

Nine o'clock drifted by and after that nine-thirty, and it was nearly nine-forty-five when Engineer had begun pacing, looking out of the window, and pacing some more. His whole body fell with respite when he glanced out of the train into the darkness to discover Sniper's lanky stature running toward them, one hand holding his hat in place and the other swinging at his side with every enormous stride.

Engineer slid open the passenger car door to let Sniper in.

"What happened?" Engineer could hardly contain himself. Sniper shook his head and looked at his team mate with disbelief written over his face, "Get the train ready. You wouldn't believe what Heavy just did."


	35. Til Death Do Us Part

**Totenkinder Madchen: I will update until it kills me. I can't wait to get to the end, and have faith, I certainly plan on it! Oh.. btw... It'll get darker. (Where'd that evil music come from just now?)**

**Wild Okapi: I am elated that you're enjoying it! ^.^ thank you! **

**Numbuh six-sixtysix: Spytech industries supplies stuff to RED and BLU. They have their own website! www . spytechindustries . com / support . asp (I had to do the spaces cause sometimes this site removes formatting if I don't.)**

**ArmoredSoul: Get on Steam!! **

_**Without further adieu.... The saga continues...**_

* * *

**EARLIER**

Pyro awoke to the sound of metronome beeping and the feeling that her gut had been stuffed like a thanksgiving turkey. Her mouth stuck together like she'd been asleep for days, and her skull felt like it was packed with sand. She recalled the incident involving the RED Demoman, and quick wiggle of her toes dismissed the worst of her worries.

She opened her eyes and scanned the room from left to right through Vaseline-coated vision. Her heart jumped when her gaze fell upon the dark outline to the right of her, and she blinked the blur away enough to make out an older gentlemen in a dark blue suit and tie sitting in the chair beside her bed. He had salt and pepper hair and glasses that made him look like a lawyer or a used car salesmen, she couldn't decide which. Her visitor smiled brightly, his aged skin stretched along his face.

"Good morning, Miss," he said gently. Pyro wasn't sure where she was just yet, but it didn't smell like bleach so it probably wasn't the BLU infirmary. She studied her visitor; she hadn't ever seen him before, and although he didn't appear to be a threat she kept her guard up anyway. _Not that I could really do anything_, she thought bitterly.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, still holding onto her hand. She didn't have the energy to pull it away. She wasn't sure if she was supposed to speak or not, so she nodded instead. He smiled. "Good, good to hear," he said even though she hadn't said anything. "I'm from Beatty City Family Resources and I'd like to ask you a few questions about your domestic situation."

Pyro couldn't have been more shocked if he'd bludgeoned her with a sledgehammer. Her face must have relayed her surprise, and he began talking again, "It's quite alright, you're safe here." He took his hand back finally and lifted a leather bound notebook and uncapped a black pen that was so fancy she was sure Medic would be jealous. "Are you able to speak?"

She nodded, and her visitor smiled. "You don't have to be afraid. I promise that whatever is said will not leave this room."

She didn't know what to think. She did learn where she was, somewhere called Beatty city. This man was probably not from BLU, but he could be a RED. If he were a RED why would he be asking her about her domestic situation? Surely he would have smothered her with a pillow already if that were the case. Pyro glanced around the room again, and halfway hoped that Spy might be lurking in a corner. Where was everyone else? Why did they leave her alone with… this guy?

"Let's start with your name," and he poised his pen to write. If he was from BLU, he'd know her name already. If he wasn't, then he couldn't know her name at all. Best to go with an alias. She pulled her first name from the book Medic had loaned her, and paired it with the German word for 'fire,' and gave herself a pat on the back for creativity.

"Beatrice Feuer," she admitted in her dry, raspy voice. He wrote her name in his book. "Beatrice Feuer," he said the name aloud and Pyro realized that it wasn't the worst fake name she could have come up with. It certainly sounded made up to her, but he seemed satisfied.

"How long have you been married?" he asked, and she tried not to raise her eyebrows. Why would he be asking her if she were married? She put this together with the fact that he was from some kind of family resources department and came up with nothing. Could he be mistaking her for someone else? Were there that many flame haired, half-scarred arsonists around here?

"Three years," she said, giving him her time of tenure at BLU, which in hindsight wasn't very tactful if he were from RED. The man smiled and wrote another note. "How would you describe your relationship with your husband?"

_Uhmmmm, _was all Pyro could think at the moment. _Relationship with the husband, relationship with the husband… _

"Fine," she said finally, and hoped this would suffice. It didn't. His face became solemn and he put his hand on hers again. He was turning out to be a real touchy-feely kind of guy, a trait that bothered Pyro. "You don't have to lie to me," he said softly, "Your husband will not find out about our conversation."

Pyro remained frozen. She didn't know what he expected of her.

"Now, I've already had the chance to talk with him, and he didn't say much, which is quite common in these sorts of cases. He said that you fell down a flight of stairs," he explained quietly, looking genuinely concerned, "but the doctor here says that your injuries and his story don't quite fit. He says it looks more like someone laid hands on you."

_That sure is a nice way to put getting slammed out of mid air into a table, _Pyro reflected sarcastically. Since they had been so far from the BLU base, Medic was most likely the one who brought her to this civilian hospital and rationalized the explanations. Pyro reminded herself to scold him for thinking of such a flimsy back story that merely suggested she was clumsy, and setting himself as her savior-and-husband. She had to stop herself from smiling at that moment; as if she would ever marry a pigheaded control freak like Medic. Then she stepped back in her thought process, alarmed that she'd even thought about getting married in the first place.

So a flight of stairs had been responsible for her injuries? What would Medic want her to say now? _Probably anything to get him to stop him from asking me any more questions..._

"Yes, I had a tumble down some stairs. I really can be quite clumsy. I was very lucky that my husband had been close by," she tried to add a shy smile to her explanation. How did normal women act? The visitor tucked his face into a fake sympathetic smile. "It's okay Beatrice. You can tell me what happened later on. I understand that this is a traumatizing event for you."

Pyro scoffed inside. If he could see just a fraction of the gore she'd induced, he'd shit his pants.

There was a knock on the door and she and the suited man turned to look towards it. A blonde nurse entered after a moment. "Mr. Leatherman, the patient's husband would like to see her?"

"I don't think that's a good idea, best to keep him away for now." If Pyro's blood hadn't been thick with drugs she'd of kicked him.

"He insists that I—" and the nurse didn't get the chance to finish, because Heavy carefully parted his way between the nurse and the door. He strode over to the bed and Pyro's visitor Mr. Leatherman looked appalled.

"We must go, _now_," Heavy said urgently. He stopped on Pyro's left side; Mr. Leatherman had stood up on her right.

"Mr. Sanvich, your wife is in no condition to be moved," he said weakly, obviously intimidated by his gargantuan size.

_Mr. Sanvich? _Pyro suddenly felt proud of her on-the-spot alias, and stifled the laughter pulling her cheeks taught. She glanced at Heavy, and other than a playful glint behind his dark blue eyes he looked as serious as the grave.

"We must go. Missing train home," Heavy gruffly explained and began removing the adhesive tape securing an IV into Pyro's arm.

"I'm calling the doctor," Mr. Leatherman picked up the bedside phone and angrily pounded the buttons.

"I don't think I can walk," Pyro whispered to Heavy, and he nodded. He would have no problem carrying her. He was still detaching wires and tubes when the door opened and the nurse entered again, a look of confusion piled on top of the worried one she'd worn earlier. "Uhm, Mr. Leatherman? The patient's husband is here to see her?" the pitch of her voice went high with confusion and her head cocked to one side like a perplexed dog.

"I can see that!" he said loudly, gesturing to the bearlike man fumbling the medical equipment.

"Uh," the nurse backed out of the door and peaked down the hall, "This man says that he's her husband, too…" she trailed off. The receiver slipped slightly from Mr. Leatherman's hands as Demoman strutted through the door.

"Ey, babe," he nodded casually to Pyro, walking like he'd had a few drinks already. "Who are you?" the civilian Mr. Leatherman asked, failing to hide his appalled frown. Demo was still wearing his blue plaid kilt, black sports jacket (sans one button) and argyle socks pulled up to his knees. Neither Heavy nor Pyro protested to the additional husband and Mr. Leatherman looked at the three like they were sprouting extra heads.

"I'm 'er husband, tha's who," he pointed to Pyro and went to stand by Heavy, giving the Russian a quick look-over. "We gotta go, was only here visitin' family, ya know," he tucked his hands in his jacket pockets. "Not my side, hers," he added quickly. The nurse scurried away.

"_You're _Beatrice's husband?" Mr. Leatherman asked doubtfully.

"Damn right'cha are!" Demo swayed in spot, hardly making an attempt to contain his anger. He'd definitely found something to drink. Pyro shook her head and smiled grimly. Heavy was just finishing with the tangle of tubes and wires.

The door opened again and everyone turned to look. Mr. Leatherman was relieved that it was the doctor this time and _not _another one of Beatrice Feuer's husbands.

"So sorry Mr. Leatherman, I tried to stop him but he wouldn't listen," the doctor shook his head in frustration, speaking as if Heavy, Demoman and Pyro were deaf.

"I'm going to call the authorities, we need to straighten this out," Mr. Leatherman looked proud of his decision before he'd turned to see Demoman's scowl. "You're gonna put tha' phone down, n' we're gonna leave. Ain't no cops gonna come." Demo's voice was so cold Pyro thought icicles would start forming at the ceiling.

"N-no, I'm afraid I can't do that," he faltered. Pyro gave him credit for not crumbling under the weight of Demo's lively glower.

Demoman took his time to saunter over to Mr. Leatherman and the phone, now repeating a hang-me-up tone. Pyro knew that look. It was the same look he had when he was figuring out the distance of his grenade launcher to a particularly troublesome RED sentry gun. _Ah-oh, _was Pyro's next thought.

"Pu'tha phone down."

"No." Mr. Leatherman had balls.

"Pu'tha phone down b'fore I shove it down yer throat," Demo rephrased, his voice a low growl. Heavy had scooped up Pyro into his arms with a blanket wrapped around her like a cocoon. She held an arm around his thick neck for support so she could keep an eye on the confrontation. The doctor who'd come at Mr. Leatherman's call couldn't have scampered away fast enough at Demo's ominous resolution to his calling the authorities.

Mr. Leatherman was not accustomed to being pressured by men like Demo, and that was clear by the stream of sweat accumulating on his forehead. He shakily set the phone back on its cradle, visibly gulped and turned to face the kilt-wearing, six foot tall, black Scottish Cyclops that was threatening his life.

"Heavy," Demo addressed, not breaking his stare from the well-dressed white man saturated with fear. "Take'r outta here. I'll make sure ya don't git followed," he added menacingly. Mr. Leatherman trembled.

Heavy didn't hesitate to trudge out of the door (he only slowed to duck below the doorframe) and down the winding halls until they came to the hospital lobby. The nurse yipped when she saw them, and sensibly remained seated in her swivel chair behind the receptionist desk. She didn't pick up the phone until Heavy and Pyro were out of the door.

* * *

Heavy lumbered as gracefully as a giant could while successfully moderating the shock of his movements on Pyro. He rushed through the open area affront of the hospital and darted for the opposing set of buildings where he saw the veiled outline of Medic in the thin alleyway between the post office and a brick shopping center.

"Vhere is Demo?" Medic whispered harshly when Heavy came near. His white silk ensemble was still stained with dark blotches of blood, and in the shadows he appeared to be wearing a black-and-white cow skin suit. His hair stuck up in awkward directions from the crisped, dried blood. The shades of grey around his side burns had been dyed dark with it as well and he looked at least ten years younger.

"He is inside," Heavy explained as he forced his cocooned team mate into the Doctor's arms.

"Vhat are you doingk? Ve have to go!" Medic held Pyro a bit too tight for her taste, and she felt the stuffing in her stomach squeeze like a wet sponge. Sniper's frame emerged from a gloomy corner of the alley and Heavy gave him a quick glance before returning his attention to Medic.

A whooping siren called in the distance, and all three turned toward the source of the sound. Pyro craned her head around Medic's arm and silently swore at Sniper, who was blocking most of her view out of the alley. Three white police vehicles flocked to the Beatty hospital entrance, paving their way over the cobblestone sidewalk. Heavy counted seven armed men jog into the glass enclosed anteroom. He could see two officers stationing themselves at the receptionist desk and the other five disappeared, presumably to find Demoman.

Heavy looked down near his feet to the miniature flower garden at the curb of the building on the right side of the alley. It was lined with copper colored bricks angled into the ground so most of the block except for one corner was exposed. He knelt down and wiggled a brick out of its snug position and familiarized himself with the weight of it. Medic and Sniper weren't sure what to make of this, but neither had the chance to ask since Heavy swiftly turned and jogged toward the hospital without looking back, "Going for Demo, get Ms. Pyro on train!" he yelled.

Sniper and Medic shared a dumbfounded chagrin before Sniper regained his composure and took flight, "You heard the man!" and the Australian made large strides to catch up with Heavy.

* * *

"Now, if ye don't mind me askin', wha'the 'ell you doin' ta my _wife_? EH?!" Demoman raged, curling his hand into a fist and cementing the small white Mr. Leatherman against the tiled wall.

"N-nothing!" he shrunk in his suit and held up his arms over his face and suddenly understood why Beatrice Feuer had been so adamant for silence.

Demoman snarled and Mr. Leatherman cowered some more. "Alright ya sniveling piece 'a shit!" Demo snatched Mr. Leatherman by the collar and yanked him away from the wall, "Where's my wife's dress?!"

"Dress? What d-dress?!" he cried out with his arms protecting his head.

"You know what I'm talkin' 'bout, ya white faced devil," Demo hoarsely accused. While is exterior was shielded with blazing rage, everything inside him was melting. The miniscule spot of logic at the back of his mind screamed for self-control, but it was drowned out by the storm of pain and perverse retribution.

Though at the moment it was impossible for him to unsnarl his interlacing mass of volatile emotions, deep down the root of his retroactive rage was crystal clear. In nearly losing Pyro, the bottled up fever that he'd collected when he'd lost his wife to the man with the black Mercedes, and then to his own cowardly solution to his marriage, had fermented over the years and was bursting at the cork. His veins rippled with regret, acrimony and woe. He'd come so close to losing the only other woman he… did he love Pyro? He wasn't sure. It wasn't love exactly, but something close and Demo was erupting at the seams to preserve it, to avenge Pyro, to right his mistakes, to feel that for once in his life he protected something instead of destroying it.

A far away siren shrieked and stopped abruptly, and instead of withering his fortitude, it reinforced it. _Let them come, _his internal voice snarled, and the realization that he might finally die did nothing to mitigate the blood lust smoldering inside of him.


	36. FIXED!

UPDATED!

I made one teeny change (that "EARLIER" text at the top) and accidentally replaced the chapter with the wrong material. Score one tally on the Dumb Mistakes board ;p

--Dreadd


	37. That Burning Feeling

**EARLIER**

Before he bounded fists (and brick) first through the hospital doors, Heavy took a page out of Medic's Battle Manual and entered slowly, turning his hand so the brick was concealed by his massive wrist. He'd get as close as he could to the two uniformed officers standing guard in front of the receptionist desk so he could subdue them in quick succession.

"Stay where you are! Get your hands up!" Both officers were middle-aged and white, wearing black uniforms with shiny gold badges. Even at a distance of fifteen feet the smaller men had to tilt their heads to meet Heavy's eyes. Despite their applicability of firepower, Heavy could sense by their shifting stance, overly alert eyes and the bristling atmosphere that they were _not _killers.

"I said freeze!" the smaller of the two shouted, re-brandishing his gun as if he thought Heavy hadn't realized he was holding it. "I will shoot."

Heavy cracked a smile and drew a few steps closer, and the ambiance transformed into arctic fear as the men caught glimpse of their opponent's terrifying focus. The smaller, more nervous of the two men fired a warning shot into the floor, visibly startling his partner and the nurse behind the desk who screamed and ducked. Heavy didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. Unfortunately for the officers, their straight-laced protocol did not cover handling individuals so anesthetized to violence, and their training went forgotten as their instincts recognized that someone who didn't shy away from a bullet was immune to their only advantage, and in their seconds of frozen aftershock, Heavy took action.

With a pitch that even Scout couldn't scrutinize, Heavy wound his tree trunk arm and catapulted the two pound brick into the chest of the larger officer; he didn't have time to dodge properly, and the long side of the brick crashed into his collarbone with a sickening _crack_; he leveled with the ground and didn't get back up.

As the first body hit the floor Heavy lunged into smaller man and both went plummeting. Heavy heard a second gunshot as they fell, but the familiar thump and ache he associated with bullet wounds did not come. Heavy calmly wrapped his hand around the man's throat until he became still.

He leapt from the body, collected the guns, removed the clips and stowed them into his pocket. He set one finger over his lips at the nurse who was cowering and had begun to silently cry. Pyro hadn't ever cried, and Heavy felt a sudden surge of respect toward his only female comrade.

Fingers lose and breath steady, Heavy tried to be as discreet as possible as he crept to the set of double doors into the outpatient wing. When he heard the entrance swish open and closed behind him, he turned halfway around to discover Sniper was following. They exchanged the briefest of head gestures and Heavy continued down the hall, careful to ease each step so to lessen the inexorable click-clacking of his dress shoes.

A quick peak around the corner splitting to his right revealed the backs of two officers halfway through the doorsill to the room where Pyro had been kept. He could see their shoulders were raised; they were pointing their guns into the room. Heavy crept forward. He could make out the hoarse voice of Demoman and the stiff commands of the officers.

"You sons-a-bitches ain't got the balls ta do me in! Go on, ya yellow bastards! Aim that gun at me head and _shoot me!_" Demo was tipping the boundaries of sanity, slipping into the fathomless depths of craze.

Sniper was close enough now that he was able to hear the argument and he squinted with confusion. Why was Demo asking to be shot? Unless this was his idea of intimidation tactics (questionable ones, at that), Sniper suspected that Demo _wanted _to die.

The officers commanded that he let go of the hostage, and Demoman lividly refused. Someone yelped and Sniper heard a collection of gasps. A shot went off, and then a howl erupted from Demo blended with the crash of shattering glass.

Using the chaos as a distraction, Heavy positioned himself behind the two uniformed men in the doorway, his grin stretched broad as he crouched and set his sights on the oblivious men. Sniper's eyes became wide and he shook his head, mouthing a hodgepodge of "no," "stop" and "don't," but it was all for naught.

Heavy slammed his right fist into the shoulder of the rightmost officer, who crumpled like a sack of bricks. He took hold of the adjacent officer's throat and thumped his skull into the door frame, and he joined his partner on the floor.

Heavy was in the room before Sniper had a chance to breathe, and two more gun shots echoed throughout the cavernous corridor. Sniper heard something metal clatter to the floor as he duck walked along the wall to peek inside.

There were three officers triangulated around Demoman, a very pale middle-aged man in a blue suit, and Heavy. A thick stream of rich blood gushed through the silk fabric under Heavy's left shoulder, and although the flow was substantial enough to soak the majority of his sleeve in under a minute, his left hand maintained a firm grip on the wrist of one officer.

The Russian squeezed and the gun clattered to the floor. With his right hand he took hold of the shooter's neck, and in one flowing motion he lifted him off his feet and sent him soaring back first through a rolling table of medical instruments.

One of the two officers left wielded his nightstick like a sword and only barely managed to deflect one of Heavy's would-be thunderous blows, something that he wouldn't have been able to do if Heavy hadn't been shot. As he retracted the night stick after escaping the wounded swing, Heavy's undaunted right hook slugged him in the face and his limp body revolved once before collapsing.

Another gun fired and the only two who weren't fazed by this, who didn't instinctively flinch or cower were Heavy and Demoman. A sprinkling of sheet rock puffed from the ceiling, and Demoman shoved away his hostage freeing him to pounce. The officer's gun hand fell between the two. Demo's immobilized foe fingered the trigger, and to his dismay all the revolver did was _click-click-click. _Demo slammed his forehead into his opponent's temple, and the struggle was over. His face twisted like a Cheshire cat as he lifted himself off the body and looked around. "Nice a'ya ta drop by," he was dripping with sarcasm just as steadily as Heavy's fingers were dribbling blood onto the floor.

Heavy pressed two fingers into the bleeding hole in his shoulder, "Couldn't leave without you." Demoman snarled and waved his hand dismissively, then set his sights on Sniper, "_You_ were a big help, as always."

Sniper rose from his crouching position halfway behind the doorframe, "Didn't wanna cramp your style," he brushed off his silk suit, surprised that throughout the past twenty four hours he hadn't gotten a single scratch or tear. He was less than enthralled at Demo's bitter attitude but didn't think it would be wise to attract even more attention to their group with a civil argument.

Medic appeared at the door behind Sniper with a bundle of hypodermic needles wrapped in plastic, a bag full of clear liquid, a spool of transparent tubing and little white boxes that piled up to his chin. He nonchalantly walked into the room as if he were interrupting a tea party, stepped over two bleeding bodies and dumped his stolen supplies onto the bed, then removed the covering of the only pillow within his reach and unsystematically crammed his things inside.

"What're we gonna do 'bout all this?" Sniper waved his hand around the as if the corpses, blood, bullet holes and overturned medical equipment were just slightly untidy annoyances.

Despite that Mr. Leatherman had fainted in the opposite corner, the five policemen were all out cold (if not dead) and no hospital staff in their right mind had even come close to the outpatient wing since the gunshots warned them not to, Heavy gestured for Demoman, Sniper and Medic to join him in a more private area of the room. When they were in a close circle, Heavy reiterated Sniper's concern, "What we do about men?"

Medic gave the bodies on the floor a quick once-over with a bland expression. He pursed his lips and squinted, then said, "Zhey cannot be allowed to tell anyone of us."

Heavy wholeheartedly agreed, "Ms. Blu would not like it."

"Should we get all the files they made on Pyro?" Sniper suggested.

"Not enough time. Vouldn't know vhere to start lookingk, and if ve did ve could not be sure ve got all of zhem," said Medic.

"We c'n just kill em all," Demo growled, "Dead men don't talk."

Medic crooked his eyebrow, "And live men can still read. Killing everyone doesn't mean somevone von't be able to vind und read zhe viles." Demoman reluctantly shrugged.

"If we find the docs that worked on 'er they can show us where they keep all the files, n' then we can destroy em," Sniper proposed.

"Yeah, n' then we kill all'em afterward," Demo shot out, determined to revitalize his suggestion.

Medic waved idly, "Ve don't have time to be parading around asking qvuestions—"

"The longer we wait, the better chance them docs have ta run!" barked Sniper, annoyed that Medic had shot down everyone else's ideas and not offered any solutions himself.

"You zhink zhey aren't gone already?" Medic argued.

Sniper leaned in toward Medic, "Which is why if we find the other docs, get their addresses and track 'em down—"

"Oh yes, zhat vill take _no time at all_! First ve have to vind zhem," Medic roughly counted on his fingers, "Interrogate zhem, vind ze viles in zhe hospital, track down zhe other doctors at their homes, then vind out vhat _zhey_ know—"

"Tha's a shit ton a' rubbish, you're makin' it out ta be more complicated than it is," Sniper swayed.

"_I'm _making it more complicated? I'm not zhe one suggesting ve vaste our time prancing about having chats vith everyvone who might or might not have zeen Pyro und lookingk for papers zhat might or might not exist!"

"It won't be a waste if we start _now_," Sniper thrust his index finger into his open palm.

Medic folded his arms. "Ve're not going to squander our time vith your _dummheit _ideas."

"I got one word for ya," the Australian poked Medic in the chest, "_Obtuse."_

Medic snatched Sniper's wrist and twisted it backwards, forcing him into an awkward restraint. Sniper lowered himself and used his free arm to make a quick jab at Medic's stomach which he had to strafe to avoid, giving Sniper enough leeway to spin around and aim a throw at Medic's face. The Doctor's jaw made a crunching sound and he retaliated by crooking Sniper's middle finger a full ninety degrees in the wrong direction.

Before it became an all out brawl, Demoman shoved himself in-between Medic and Sniper to separate them and wailed at the top of his lungs, "Whay don'che just burn it all, goddamnit!"

Whether it was because he was determined to do his due diligence in detaining their escapades, or if he had Pyro on the mind wasn't clear, but Demoman's suggestion was right on the money; at least to Heavy and Medic.

There was a stiff pause. Burning the hospital wouldn't solve all of their problems, but a great many. Sniper was shaking his head, rearranging his dislocated finger and tasking himself to think of a more reasonable solution when Medic nodded and said agreeably, "Zhat is a good idea."

Sniper's eyes flared, "_It's a good idea to burn down a hospital?" _he recoiled, looking at Medic and Demoman like he'd never seen them before. "Doc you're—You can't be serious! You're a –" Sniper paused to try to think of a more fitting description, finding none that weren't blasphemous, "--a doctor!"

Medic's firm glare begged Sniper to make his point. They were staring daggers at each other when Heavy volunteered himself for the job, "I will get burn material."

"Good," said Medic, his eyes continuing to bore into Sniper.

"No, not good!" Sniper spat and held an arm in front of Heavy to prevent him from starting his search for combustibles, "We aren't burning a buncha civilians!"

"We aren't?" Medic whispered dangerously. Sniper looked from Medic, to Heavy and then to Demo, all of whom were redolent of impatience. They were starving, exhausted, fed-up with Beatty city and annoyed with Sniper for delaying their getaway.

"You're bonkers," Sniper wiped down his face, the thirty six sleepless, food devoid hours taking their toll on his features in the form of dark shadows and deep lines. Heavy set his good arm onto Sniper's shoulder and looked at him sternly, and in a voice matching his unreadable visage, gave Sniper the most practical advice that he'd heard in a long while, "Detach yourself."

Heavy pulled his arm away, leaving a slight streak of blood down his shoulder. _So much for the pristine suit,_ he sighed inwardly. Medic gave Heavy an approving half-smile and instructed him to find combustible materials and ignite them throughout the building, starting at the back end. Heavy nodded tersely and assured Medic that he'd only leave once the structure was indisputably ablaze.

Sniper wanted nothing better than to twist Medic's neck around one hundred and eighty degrees. Not only was he suggesting something ludicrously evil, but he was making Heavy do it for him. Sniper's mouth bent with revulsion; he found himself on the side of Soldier, who'd once asserted that their team doctor was a "soulless bastard son of Nazi scum." Sniper tucked the title away in case the chance to use it ever arose, which looked likely, considering how good of a start Medic was off to.

Demo moved away from the pack before Medic assigned him some new grim detail. He announced in a series of partial sentences that there was something he had to find before they left, and began rummaging through the bedside storage units. He tore a filing cabinet off of the wall and yelled when it landed on his foot, kicking a nearby bed in a tantrum. While Demo declared his hostility at inanimate objects, Heavy waddled to one side of the room and hastily collected bed sheets.

Sniper looked to the breathing bodies on the floor, to the unconscious civilian in the corner and over to Demo who had broken through a solid oak door using a portable IV stand on wheels. He ripped away the wood splinters, stuck his hand into the other side and unlocked the door, extending his search for whatever it was he was determined to find.

"Vhat the hell are you lookingk at? Get going!" Medic shouted. He ordered Sniper to get back to the train and tell Engineer to get it ready, and then he went back to the storage room for additional provisions.

Sniper thought about all of the civilians that would be trapped in the hospital when Heavy set it off. He thought about the irony of biting the hand that feeds you, or in this case, burning the people who rescued a member of your team so the hand that fed you didn't bite you as hard as they should. Heavy soon recruited Demoman to help him block all of the exits, and Sniper blanched at the thought of being trapped in fire. Innocent people didn't deserve that… Sniper left the hospital on swift feet so Demo, Heavy and Medic wouldn't get the chance to drag him along on their one-way ticket to Hell.

He didn't think to ask Medic about where he'd put Pyro while he scavenged the hospital, but only twenty percent of him really felt like going back to find out. Medic would scold him for wasting time when he could be giving Engineer a heads-up.

Sniper hastily climbed the ancient wooden platform and jogged toward the train. Heavy had pacified six civilian police, probably killing three as he did so, and the one Demo took down was most likely still alive. What did it matter to him if people – civilians – that meant nothing to him were reduced to piles of smoldering ash? Pyro had done it countless times, and she got _paid_ to do it. Why was this any different? It wasn't as if he were free of sin either. He'd done his fair share of killings, probably more when he thought about it. Death was inevitable, alongside indigestion and taxes. He sighed; this calloused, practical thinking failed to shake the speculative discomfort in his bones.

"Shit," Sniper swore, and that pretty much summarized his feelings on the matter.

* * *

**PRESENT**

"What did he do?" Engineer grilled Sniper before he'd gotten the chance to sit down. Night had fallen and the darkness was thick, but that didn't prevent Engineer from peering out into it every thirty seconds.

"Took out six armed policemen with jus' his mitts n' a brick," Sniper conveyed. "Demo got the last one." He paused and took a deep breath, wondering how Engineer might react when he told him what Heavy, Demo and (indirectly) Medic planned on doing to the hospital. "Before I left, they were sayin'—"

"No frickin' way! Six?!" Scout appeared by Sniper's side just as swiftly as Spy could have, "I mean, nice job but I coulda taken' out nine! Not too bad for the lumberin' oaf though, right?"

Engineer rolled his eyes, "Pack your tongue in, boy. I wanna hear the rest'a this."

"_Pack my tongue in_?" Scout balked incredulously.

Engineer bit his lip and shook his head, "Yeah, as in shut the fuck up! I wanna know what happened to Pyro n' you being a jackass interruptin' ain't helpin' none! So _pack_—" Engineer furiously pointed to the back of the train, "your fuckin' tongue!"

It wasn't just Scout that was taken aback by the Southerner's impulsive outburst. Sniper's expression hadn't changed, his mouth was slightly ajar and his eyes swung back and forth from Scout to Engineer. Spy appeared to be amused as he repaired a snapped cigarette with his tongue and a strip of newspaper. Soldier hadn't joined them from the back of the train, and in the span of silence they heard the crinkling of crisp magazine pages and a low murmur of approval. Absolutely no one was curious about what he was doing.

"So to recap," Sniper looked at his team to make sure he wasn't interrupting some kind of silent conversation, "Heavy took down six, Demo got the last guy, n' they should be back in a bit," he turned around to face the darkness outside of their cage, "I thought Medic should be back by now."

"How'd she look?" Spy held the cigarette horizontally and rotated it above his tongue, sealing the saturated band of newspaper holding the two halves together.

"Dunno, she wadn't really talkin'," Sniper's mouth slanted thoughtfully. After an eternity of contemplative silence, Scout punched the back of his seat and leapt to stand, knocking Spy in the process who just about dropped his carefully mended cigarette. "I'm goin' in," Scout stated, and he hurdled over the empty train seats to the sliding door.

"Ah c'mon, Scout, don't do somethin' stupid," Sniper was tired and his voice showed it.

"They're out there killin' a pigs n' you're tellin' _me_ not to do nothin' stupid? Go fuck yourself; I'm findin' 'em." Scout was about to fly out the door when Sniper stood and called out, "They're burnin' down the hospital, there ain't gonna be nothin' left for you to go lookin' in."

Scout caught his knuckles on the doorframe and heaved himself back inside, "What?!"

"They're burnin' it," Sniper repeated, unable to erase the agony and disgust pulling his lips upward and brow tight, "To cover our tracks."

"And everyone inside?" Engineer asked. Sniper nodded as he slunk back into his seat.

"It was Demo's idea, he n' Heavy are doin' the deed as we speak," Sniper said calmly. He hoped he didn't sound like he was throwing his associates to the dogs. "Can't imagine they'll be much longer."

All was quiet in the short time between Sniper's explanations and when the sound of hollow footsteps from the platform announced their affiliate's arrival. Engineer stared uncertainly, his mind as open and empty as his mouth as Medic emerged into the dim glow of the train lights, a large white bundle in his arms. His expression was somber and he was drenched in sweat; his white silk shirt hung on his dense frame like breathless lead, and his circular glasses were opaque with mist.

"How's she doin?" Engineer was the first to ask. Spy looked on with interest, his face showed no concern but he was nimbly flipping a set of matches over and about his fingers while his other hand was clenched into a fist.

Medic shot Engineer a nonspecific glare, neither denying nor confirming that anything was wrong. Sniper made himself useful by gathering up the blanket that Pyro had used earlier, carefully rolled it into a pillow and handed it to Medic who was settling their injured colleague into her own row.

Scout ferociously gnawed his bottom lip, his hands vibrating restlessly against the seat as he loomed above Pyro. Heavy and Demo appeared at the sliding train door a minute or so after Medic, and Spy promptly attended to the lock when they'd captured his attention by banging on the glass.

The faint smell of smoke sailed in with Heavy as he gasped for air and fell into a seat, shaking the entire car. Demo gulped down air as well, though he was able to stumble over to check on Pyro first before he fell backwards into another row and panted. He tossed Medic's bulky pillowcase to the floor. "Get goin'," he managed to verbalize between breaths, even though Engineer had already taken command of the train.

In moments they were chugging away from the station, and as Beatty became distant the center of the city flickered with an orange glow; a halo of tiny white lights surrounded the brilliant blaze at its midpoint. Sniper watched with a hard heart as the golden spark was engulfed by inky shadows as the train throttled over the horizon.


	38. Proofreader Wanted

Position filled! Yay!

Next chapter comming soon,

Miss Dreadd


	39. Cross Examinations

**Hello all! I am elated to give to you this next chapter! It was a ball to write. There is more to be done-- I'll not waste your time with pre-chapter snippets!**

**Numbuh six-sixtysix: Thank you ^.- and that sentence bothered me too :( I haven't fixed it yet but I do plan on it.**

**Deathbybunnies: I am not fond of excuses, but in my defense I had lost my editor/proofreader at that time ;( It was a bit snarled in places. I am making an effort to avoid that in the future!**

**Admiral-Lypten: I haven't heard of TF2chan! I will check it out ;D **

**NodTactician: My humor is often dry and passive aggressive... It's a challenge to weave it into scenes sometimes! I'm glad you appreciated it ;)**

**An enormous to ArmoredSoul: You save me!! Your suggestions were spot on! You have an eye for this ;P I was delighted to read through your notations! I am in debt to you!**

* * *

Ms. Blu tapped her elegant cigarette holder on the edge of the parapet ashtray positioned in the center of her desk. She was less than angry, more perturbed than anything and her field team was really doing a fantastic job of making her sense of authority itch; they were bending rules and overstepping boundaries like that was what she paid them to do.

Her plans were documented, specific, and meant to be carried out exactly as they were written and commanded; with unwavering meticulousness and express concern for discretion. Now one of the most vital scenes in her all-inclusive scheme had been twisted, corrupted and – she scowled behind her cigarette – disregarded completely. One of her BLU team members was missing, and she had to root out the weak link that had caused this.

Despite her best efforts, Ms. Blu's search was at a standstill. Since she was unwilling to share the details of her plans to the BLU team, the BLU team was disinclined to contribute anything that might benefit her investigation.

BLU team wanted to know about the tracking devices found in their suits and on the civilians, and why they were being kept in the dark on exactly what Ms. Blu had been trying to accomplish by sending them to their potential dooms. Ms. Blu wanted to know how and why Pyro's formal suit was found in the ceiling of the women's restroom in the Builder's League United West Coast Assembly Center, and what had happened to her fire-starting offensive pawn.

From all of the misleading clues she'd found, Ms. Blu assumed that Pyro had been captured by RED. She figured they'd caught her alone, stripped her of her suit and the tracking device concealed in it, stowed it in the ceiling and made off with an essential member of the field team. It wasn't as if Pyro were a silo of classified information, as the truly imperative details concerning base locations and operations were kept secret from the nine militants. Still, Ms. Blu felt an obligation to recover the pyrotechnician; skilled mercenaries willing to do such a job were few and far between.

Ms. Blu examined the black-and-white monitor on her desk, observing the two figures from her viewpoint in the top right corner of the conference room in the BLU field base. Her small-time cohorts, Larson and Jackson, considered themselves up-and-coming prodigies all because they'd watched her Soldier for a pithy five days.

_Let them meet the rest of the team_, she thought bitterly, _and if they come up with something useful without getting themselves killed, perhaps they deserve a raise after all._

* * *

"Name?" the blond man Jackson poised to scribble on a document pinned to a clipboard. He and his partner, Larson, a slightly older balding man with beady brown eyes sulked beside him; his identical clipboard and black pen resting affront his folded hands on the wide conference table.

Engineer gave each man a polite nod, and understood that though they'd asked for his name, that wasn't the information they were looking to gather. They wanted to be assured that he _wouldn't _share anything pertinent to his civilian identity.

"Engineer. Call me Engie, if ya'd like," he offered his nickname through upturned lips.

"Engineer," Jackson repeated, having no interest in friendly aliases, "Would you say that you're a valuable asset to your field team?"

_An odd question_, thought Engineer. He subdued the urge to lift a curious eyebrow and instead gave Jackson a nod, "Yes'm. I'm a significant asset to this unit," he straightened his back proudly.

"Then I'll get to the point," said Jackson, and Engineer listened intently, having been waiting for 'the point' of Jackson and the other man's intrusion into his otherwise unoccupied Monday. They'd only been back at base for a few hours before these peons came a-running when Ms. Blu jerked their leashes.

"There was a disturbance on Sunday, in a city called Beatty just a few hours from here. From the reports our task force gathered from the civilians," Jackson slipped on a pair of thin reading glasses strung around his neck, "'A gang of well-dressed thugs appeared over night.'" He studied his report, flipped some pages and began quoting the civilian interview again, "'They raided the library and the pub, and the hospital caught fire.'"

Engineer's face was stone; surely they had more evidence than a mere civilian report. The blond man peered over his clipboard.

"Issare more?" asked Engineer. Jackson must not have known that Engineer hadn't left the train but once, to relieve himself. This was a good opportunity to get the scoop on what had happened while he was guarding the train since everyone else upon their return to base were immediately preoccupied with showering, nursing wounds, or sneaking peaks into the infirmary where Medic was putting Pyro's insides right again. Apparently (and this is what Engineer gathered from the furious wave of grousing in German) the hospital had merely stitched the loose ends together, leaving Medic to undo their hob-job which required him to use a series of portentous instruments he kept under close guard in the very same locked supply cabinet Engineer was sure he hid his Nazi memorabilia.

"There's enough here to emancipate your entire team," Larson shot out before Jackson could reply. "Unless you give us a good reason why BLU Corp should pay all of the damages and not send every one of your asses to—"

Jackson held up his bony white hand in front of Larson, who immediately shut up. He stared down Engineer and ground his teeth together, looking peeved.

Engineer leaned forward in his chair and removed his hard hat, setting it in front of him, followed by his tinted goggles. He ran his hand over his recently shaved head while his sight adjusted to the uncomfortable bright lights. Engineer's eyes were very clear, icy blue, and right about now his demeanor was just a glacial.

"You two seem like good guys. Mislead, but good, so I'mma make this preen," Engineer stated. Jackson narrowed his eyes while Larson grit his teeth some more.

"I don't take kindly to subordinate scum threatenin' ta ravage my job when they don' even have the complete narrative 'bout the event in question." When he wasn't exasperated, Engineer's southern accent was watered down from living around non-southerners for so many years. Now his drawl was thick, his vowels smooth and consonants sharp. As his temper rose, so did his verbal inflections.

"Additionally," Engineer continued, "If yall had just asked me, 'What happened Sunday?' n' been considerate enough ta be straight, then I woulda answered ya," he smiled, but his polite façade vanished just as quickly as he'd put it on.

"Instead, yall came in here under the erroneous assumption that I give a damn 'bout Ms. Blu's lackeys, and furthermore, am intimidated by them. Yall asked _me _if _I _considered myself a valuable asset, and then ya hit me with the darkest morsel of the situation at hand and expected _me _to come fallin' at yer feet? Beggin fer forgiveness? Admittin' ta all sorts'a sins n' givin' yall my head onna silver plate?"

Jackson's jaw was clenched so tight his cheeks were indented, and Larson was doing his best impression of a deer caught in high beams.

Engineer tucked his lips into a line and shook his head in disappointment, and then he lifted his head to the surveillance camera in the corner of the ceiling, "Beggin' your pardon for all this, Ms. Blu. I'll be writin' you up 'bout the incident and send it over in the mornin'." He gave the camera a nod.

Ms. Blu would surely be watching from it; she wouldn't have sent her subordinates to interview them without supervising from a safe distance. Though she always kept her business as impersonal and detached as possible, Engineer had the feeling that Ms. Blu wouldn't be put off by his acknowledgement of her presence, and would surely recognize that he meant no disrespect in his rebellion to her ham-fisted messengers.

* * *

"Name?" Jackson asked, pen and clipboard in arm.

"Come now, fellas, it's me, Soldier! I thought we were on a first name basis!" Soldier grinned and laughed. He hadn't brought his helmet, favoring a new accessory which was just as menacing as (if not slightly more than) his helmet; an oily black marbled cane with an open-winged ivory eagle on top, which upon close inspection had dark sapphires for eyes. Right now it supported Soldier's left arm as he leaned on it.

Jackson faked a smile, "Of course, Soldier. I wasn't sure if you'd remember us." He'd sincerely hoped that Soldier hadn't remembered them.

"How could I forget a pair of good men like you," Soldier kept on grinning and the two men shifted uneasily in their leather office chairs. Soldier asked about their wives and kids, and after they weakly assured him that their families were just wonderful, Soldier laughed at their timid behavior, said something about Ms. Blu, laughed again, then slapped the table (Larson did a nervous jig) and got down to business.

"The reason why we asked you here, Soldier, is because we were hoping you'd be able to give us some insight into the events of Saturday and Sunday," Jackson asked slowly, emphasizing politeness to the _n_th degree. "Ms. Blu is interested in what your team had been involved with over the weekend. I understand that you were there and might have seen or heard something that could point us in the right direction?" the blond man finished. He had a few moments to turn over his last conversation with Engineer, and wisely reorganized his approach. Hopefully Ms. Blu would have noticed that he was able to adapt.

Soldier took a moment to soak in Jackson's question. He furrowed his brow and tapped his index finger on the table as the thought. "No," Soldier told them honestly. "Don't remember a thing. I wasn't there."

Jackson raised an eyebrow. "You weren't there?"

"Nope."

"You weren't on the train?"

"No, sir. Not after the meeting."

"Where were you yesterday?"

Soldier gave it some thought then shrugged and shook his head.

Jackson's forehead wrinkled as he busied himself with his clipboard. He looked back up at Soldier who was wearing an expression as blank as his memory (apparently). "Says here that you were with your team yesterday? You'd gone to the stockholder's meeting and then made a stop at Beatty city, came back on the train to the BLU outpost, and from there an associate of yours hotwired a company transport vehicle and drove it back here?"

Soldier shrugged again. "Okay."

"Then you remember?" Jackson asked, looking hopefully.

"Afraid not."

Ms. Blu's minions traded exasperated glances and scanned their documents again. They were going over a short stack of manila folders when Soldier picked up on their confusion and offered to enlighten them.

"I've only been able to remember bits and pieces of the last week," Soldier began explaining indifferently, as if his recent lack of self control and memory loss were as normal as breathing.

"Sometimes I miss a few hours here, a day there. Last thing I remember of the meeting I'd secured myself out of harm's way below a table in the dinner hall. Danger was brewing and I wanted no part of it," he shook his head. "Next thing I know, I'm sitting on a bed polishing a helmet," he finished, his mouth turned upward in aversion as if polishing a helmet were tantamount to French kissing a pig.

Jackson nodded, "We'll call someone to come over and talk to you about that."

"Quite alright, no need to bother," Soldier said rather quickly, startling his interviewers. "I mean, it's no big deal! It'll probably resolve itself," he suggested, even though he knew that it never would. He understood that he was sharing a body with someone else, and had come to terms with it. It didn't mean _he _was crazy, just that the other guy was. To help separate his two halves further, he'd given himself and his other half different names. He, the man he was now, was Sol or Solly, and the other guy, the crazy one, was Soldier. He didn't dare tell Jackson or Larson this, because they'd brand him schizophrenic and cozy him up to a strait jacket.

Soldier plastered a smile on his face and stood up, "Well, boys, it's been great catching up. You take care now."

* * *

"Name?"

"You know my fuckin' name, what else ya want?" Scout slumped in his chair and flashed a glance at the camera looming in the corner.

"Alright then," Jackson rolled his eyes and Scout sharpened his sneer. "Tell me about your weekend."

"Afta or b'fore the meetin'?" Scout asked.

"After," said Jackson.

"Train gottathe city then I got off got some stuff to read n' got back on then we left are we done?" Scout sputtered to them through one breath. The two men were astonished; they'd gotten more from this two minute conversation than they had with their last two interviews combined. Ms. Blu would have their Christmas bonuses if they didn't investigate further.

Larson was first, "What time did the train get there?"

"The fuck do I look like? Big Ben? It was dark so like, five. I dunno."

Larson held back asking "AM" or "PM" and found something else to solicit, "When did you leave?"

Scout breathed in deep and sighed loudly, "Seven."

"Seven? Are you sure?"

"No, I ain't, it coulda been three. Can I go now?" Scout fidgeted.

Larson beat Jackson out of the next question, "What kind of reading material did you get?"

Scout heaved himself away from the conference table and exhaled nosily, "Fuckin' done here! I ain't got nothin' else ta tell ya!"

* * *

"You can call me Spy," the well dressed Frenchman said after he'd given the two visiting men a brief handshake. He nodded curtly to the camera in the corner and took his seat opposite the men, adjusting his pant legs before he did so.

"Spy," Jackson's head bobbed, "What can you tell us about Saturday and Sunday?"

"Hmm." Spy's deft hands produced a cigarette and he took his time to light it, allowing Ms. Blu's men time to stir with anticipation before he spoiled their hopefulness, "Nozzing."

"Were you there?" Jackson asked. The obvious answer was 'yes,' but Spy just glared.

Jackson assumed Spy's response and proceeded. "Is there anything you can tell us? Something that would help figure out what had happened and why BLU Corp should be so inclined to pay for thousands of dollars in damages to a small town hospital, and in addition, a lawsuit being filed by," Jackson referred to the clipboard and he made an act of freezing with amazement, "A rather piqued young woman who claims that a man fitting your description somehow found his way into her washroom while she was showering?" his voice teetered to a higher pitch in curious astonishment.

Jackson let this brew and then added, "She said that the man appeared out of thin air."

Spy looked shocked for all of a fraction of a second and then he strained a smile. There was absolutely no way anyone could link him to the wonderfully tan brunette he'd visited briefly. How would the woman know who to file charges against? She probably told the local police, and when Ms. Blu's cleanup crew caught wind of such a conveniently suspicious story they automatically assumed that it had been the vanishing Frenchman belonging to the BLU field team. And they were right.

Spy could count on one hand the reasons why he needn't tell these men anything at all; first off, there was absolutely no physical evidence. Any respectable covert operative knows how to appropriately conceal any indication of their presence. Second, he hadn't laid a finger (or anything larger than a finger) on her, which meant there wouldn't be anything, bruises or fluids or fibers that the brunette could use to substantiate the seriousness of her claim. And third, the most depressing feature of his defensive collage, he'd only been in her washroom for about five minutes before a heavy, sinking feeling in the middle of his chest forced him to flee. This unfamiliar emotion was guilt, and he was embarrassed to look at himself in the mirror with the knowledge that he'd been subdued by such a petty phenomenon.

It didn't take Sigmund Freud to discern that the reason he'd aborted his unethical mission because he was harboring sentiments for a certain red headed arsonist.

"Zhere iz nozzing I can tell you zhat you don't already know, and my sincerest condolences to ze madam in question. 'Owever, I waz keeping lookout for my colleagues while in Beatty."

If Jackson had hoped to have been able to back Spy into a corner to get some answers, he was sorely mistaken. After he'd mentioned the shower-lawsuit-incident, Spy became a closed book. He stuck around to deny any other charges before he politely made his leave.

* * *

"Your name?" Jackson asked quite unnecessarily, because the man in the opposite chair wore a white lab coat, blue tie, roundish glasses and had a stethoscope draped around his neck.

"Me-adic," Demoman pulled his lips down taught and asphyxiated his laughter.

"Medic," Jackson repeated. The smell of hard liquor emanated from this man, and Larson screened the folders again for a photograph of "Medic."

"Yeah, thait's meh—hic," Demo gave them a nod, looked up at the camera, smiled his drunken, clumsy grin and then the intercom in the center of the conference table clicked on.

"Demoman, if you ever impersonate a member of your team again I'll have you drawn and quartered," Ms. Blu's lifetime smoking habit had reworked her voice so when she spoke this threat in a silky, velvety manner, her terror factor increased tenfold.

Despite the visage of having his limbs ripped off in a most gruesome, painful method, Demoman's smirk grew larger. He laughed and wiped a tear away, and Jackson and Larson looked at him like he was crazy. Demoman wouldn't have denied this if they'd asked him.

Not much information came from Demoman. He was only able to slur a brief trout of obscenities about his pay rate and lack of liquor funding before he passed out, slamming his head onto the table on his way down to the floor.

* * *

Next up was Heavy, and neither Jackson nor Larson liked this man very much. He was huge, twice the size of both of them, and his baleful stare made their skin crawl.

"Can you tell us anything about the events subsequent to the stockholder's meeting?" Jackson asked, fortifying his resolve with nervous courage.

Heavy hummed, looked up at the opposite corner of the camera, and then turned back to the two men; "No."

Ms. Blu's men restrained themselves from sighing in frustration. "How about how you got from the meeting back to base?"

Heavy purposefully fit on a pensive stare on the far wall. What had happened yesterday was between himself, Sniper, Demoman, Pyro and Medic, and the seven police officers that they were forced to subdue (that was the nicest way of describing it) and that guy in the suit that Demoman had turned into a puddle of fear. He was mostly sure that no one other than Sniper had followed him back into the hospital to retrieve Demoman, but since he wasn't one-hundred percent sure, and hadn't the chance to corroborate stories, he wouldn't say anything to anyone, including Ms. Blu's people. He knew she'd be angry, but he'd write her an apology later on.

He didn't trust the two men questioning him. They were small and beady and not confident at all. They were like a pair of rabbits asking a wolf what he'd been hunting; Heavy smiled at the correlation.

"We took train," the Russian said finally.

"What was the purpose of the stop at Beatty city?" Jackson was relentless.

This was a delicate question requiring a delicate answer, and Heavy was as accomplished at delicate conversation as he was at macramé. He decided it would be preferable that Larson and Jackson consider him simple-minded rather than waste time conveying a long winded excuse in his third learnt language (Russian was his first, Polish his second). Also, there were advantages to being considered dense; people clued him in on more than they ought to because they assumed he wouldn't understand. Heavy was no Engineer's apprentice, but he wasn't a box of rocks either.

So, why did the team stop at Beatty city? Heavy put on his best brainless veneer and told them slowly, "To get food."

Jackson's face didn't change but Larson looked like he was choking on arrogance. Jackson took a breath and though he didn't appear completely satisfied with Heavy's answer, he moved on anyway; "What happened between the time you left the stockholder's meeting and when you got to Beatty city?"

"We took train," Heavy stated reassuringly.

Jackson shuffled his folders and took a moment to rephrase the question to who he considered the dimmest man on the planet, "After the meeting, what happened between the time you got on the train and the time you arrived at Beatty?" he slid his hand from left to right while he said this, thinking it would better explain what he was trying to find out.

Heavy understood this as, "How did you get to Beatty from the meeting?" when what Jackson really wanted to know was "What happened right after the meeting?" because Jackson assumed that whatever had happened had happened on the train or right before they'd left the assembly center.

Jackson and Larson had been informed by Ms. Blu that a member of the BLU field team had gone missing, and was last seen at the stockholder's meeting. They hadn't been able to get any solid information from any of the officers or staff at Beatty hospital, because cremated remains often have a difficult time voicing their opinions. The hospital staff that had managed to escape the inferno wanted nothing to do with the suited men trying to decipher the wake of destruction caused by the BLU team. They were truthful to admit they were afraid for their well-being, and believed if they snitched they'd be punished by whoever set fire to the hospital.

Jackson dismissed Heavy after he kept repeating that they'd taken the train. Heavy honestly wasn't sure what the two men wanted, but their round-about interrogation tactics were wearing him thin, and he'd rather of spoken with Ms. Blu directly.

* * *

Jackson and Larson interviewed Sniper. Sniper made an effort to be friendly and spoke with unsullied confidence. He told them he hadn't known what had happened on the train or in the city, despite having seen a large part of the whole debacle. Larson and Jackson didn't ask about Pyro, not in a straightforward manner at least. They let Sniper go after only ten minutes.

They'd only had one more person to interview, and that was (the real) Medic. Jackson and Larson shuffled papers, wrote down notes, filled out forms, and occupied themselves with busy work while they waited for their last interview session.

Both men were looking down at their clipboards when the door clicked open and swished closed. Neither Larson nor Jackson had any history of heart problems, but when they lifted their heads concurrently and found a full-suited figure, complete with black netted mask and gloves moving to sit in the black leather chair right in front of them, the air was sucked from their lungs and their hearts clogged with shock.

Their missing Pyro was staring them in the face.

"Demoman," the intercom said in a frightfully angry tone, "Does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours? Larson, Jackson, you are to escort our friend to the BLU outpost for a _review_," Ms. Blu said with malice, having watched the figure in Pyro's suit sit down in the conference room and assumed it was Demo parading a sick joke.

Pyro looked quizzically at the intercom and the camera, and to the two men whose jaws had only just regained the ability to shut themselves. She really was Pyro, and she looked at the camera and shrugged. Medic had told her that two of Ms. Blu's men were debriefing in the conference room and that she was well enough to shuffle her way across the base for a half hour consultation, after which Medic promised she could come right back to the infirmary if she thought she might fall apart again.

Why was Ms. Blu talking about Demoman? What had he done to deserve a review? And why was Ms. Blu telling her about it? Demoman wasn't even in the room…

Confusion wrangled itself in a thick fog, and for about thirty seconds no one made a move. The red light on the intercom stayed lit and the rough sound of shuffling paper, scribbling pens and tapping gave everyone the impression of fury and edgy disappointment.

Eventually Pyro put her curiosity into words, "Ms. Blu? Is there something that you need me for?"

Something heavy fell on the other side of the intercom. Ms. Blu's voice never had more perplexity weaved through it than it did just then, which still wasn't very much; "Thank you for showing up, Pyro. You're all dismissed." And the intercom light went dark.


	40. Pyro Gone Postal

Tuesday morning crept into the infirmary and Medic dutifully followed, slamming the cumbersome steel door and jostling Pyro out of a rather pleasant dream. Though she'd been cleared by him the day before, he banked on caution and asked her to stay for an additional night.

"Morning," Pyro greeted, and curled herself into her blanket. Medic replied and took to organizing the medical supplies he'd gathered from the civilian hospital into the appropriate cabinets. With all of Medic's plastic crinkling, cabinet unlocking-opening-closing-locking, pacing, humming and inventory index scribbling, Pyro failed to return to sleep and eventually rolled out of bed. As soon as her feet touched the floor Medic bustled about the cot, peeling away the sheets and shooing her into the shower so he could get the hospital smock into the bleaching sink with the bed things.

Medic propelled a jumpsuit at her when she finished in the washroom, and as she zippered up he gave her a pair of socks and boots and steered her out into the hallway, closing the door behind her.

"Thanks for the hospitality," she shouted sardonically at the door once he'd shut it. She put Medic's bitter mood onto her "List Of Things I Don't Care About" and moved on.

As she left the infirmary she had time to think about what she wanted to do that day, which mostly consisted of eating, sleeping, and lounging in the common room with a chance of getting drunk. She got off to a good start when she found the couches in the common room were all vacant, and an untouched ration packet sat in the middle of the low scratched coffee table begging her to rip it open.

Pyro snatched the ration and pooled herself on one of the sofas and prepared herself for a nice, long day of absolutely nothing. And then Scout walked in.

"Hey, Py," he said as he dropped a short stack of magazines on the kitchen table and started manhandled the dining chairs and banging cabinets. Pyro leaned her head over the back of the couch and gave Scout a thumbs-up, "I'll have pie, thanks," she said, stuffing the dry ration back into its package and tossing it onto the table.

"What?" Scout stopped what he was doing to look at her.

"You said there was pie, and I said I'd have some," said Pyro.

Scout looked as if he were trying to decipher a particularly troublesome algebra problem when his face lit up and he smiled, "Ohhh, ain't no pie, I meant you, you're Py."

Pyro had no idea she had a nickname, and announced just that. Scout shrugged and hopped over the back of one of the cuoches and sunk into it, "Yea, I just made it up." Pyro wasn't sure what to say and just gave another thumbs-up. Even though she didn't have to wear the mask she was finding it difficult to give up her invented hand communications. She lazily reached to the coffee table and took back the sad, crumbling ration.

"You doin' anythin' taday?" Scout asked as he stretched his long legs over the armrest of the beaten couch. He wore his battle pants, a plain white t-shirt and a blue cotton beanie pulled down over his ears.

Pyro shook her head. Her plans consisted of having no plans, and Scout was about to ruin her perfectly plan-free day.

"Wanna help me with summin?"

He was probably going to ask her to help him move or clean something or have her relay a message to someone on his behalf. Even when she was mute, these were the things Scout asked her to do. While Pyro considered whether or not she felt like being a Good Samaritan, a loud clang from the set of double doors leading into the kitchen/common area diverted their attention.

Pyro lifted herself into a sitting position to get a better look at Demoman stumbling into the room. His clunky untied boots shuffled and thumped as he walked. His thin white t-shirt was on backwards and his right pant leg was pushed up to his knee, a thin streak of blood was already crisping down his shin. He was missing his signature black skullcap exposing his disheveled afro crew cut, and his eye patch was no where to be found.

Demo grumbled and slid into a dining chair. He smacked his lips together, yawned and stretched wide, and when he set his arms onto the table they collided with Scout's stack of magazines toppling a few of them to the floor.

"Hey!" Scout sprung from his sofa and cleared the span to the kitchen in a blink. He collected the magazines back into their stack. "You shitfaced already? It ain't even noon."

Demo held up his middle finger. "Yeah, you too buddy," Scout said and drifted out of the room cradling his reading material.

Pyro snigger-snorted, which sounded strange and pig-like without a mask to muffle it. She coughed and reminded herself to relearn laughing. When Demo realized Pyro was in the room he lurched over and fell into the adjacent couch.

"Morning," said Pyro. Demo copied her trademark thumbs-up signal and she chortled again. They sat in silence until Demo fell asleep and his patterned snoring filled the room. They weren't alone for long; in the next five minutes both Engineer and Sniper found their way onto the couches in the living area, taking little notice to Demoman and his omitted accessories. Sniper brought two days worth of newspapers under his arm and after he plucked away the pages he wasn't interested in, Pyro scooped them up and began to read the comic section. Engineer was mouthing silently as he abused the television knobs, jolting Demoman out of his nap. "The 'ell are ye doin'?" he asked Engineer as he stretched and resettled himself.

"Do you need to be involved with everyone's goddamn business?" Engineer snapped. Demoman stirred out of his drunken, tired daze and sat upright, "Love ye too, Engie," he said through a sigh. His arbitrary comment was rewarded by the shadow of a smirk from Engineer, though he turned back toward the television to hide it.

While Engineer rough housed with their only piece of electronic entertainment, Pyro did her best to avoid glancing in his direction. It pained her to look at him and she tried to tune him out with other thoughts. It took her ten minutes of attempted focus to trudge through a four panel comic strip, and at the end the punch line didn't even make sense because she forgot what the beginning was about. Pyro gnashed her teeth and folded the newspaper to throw onto the table when she noticed that Demoman was staring at her.

Demo was excellent at communicating through body language, and now with a raised eyebrow, concerned one-eyed stare and slanted mouth he was asking, _what's wrong?_

Pyro heaved a sigh and very quickly looked at Engineer's back, and then made a miniature snarl. Demoman nodded large and slow and pretended that he needed to stretch so he could subtly point in the direction of the door. After Pyro widened her eyes and copied his stretch to give him a nod, Demo leisurely sat up and sauntered out of the room.

Sniper was still reading and Engineer had removed the side panel of the television a few minutes later when Pyro made her leave. She found Demo in the corridor with his back against the wall, looking like he wanted nothing more than to pass out where he stood.

"Yoo've got th' thoosain-mile stare, lass. Ain't ne'er seen 'at on ya."

"That's because you've never seen my eyes before," said Pyro, looking askance to the end of the hall to make sure no one was looming. She couldn't quite place why, but being with Demoman right then felt just like it had months ago when she was still in disguise. It was a comforting feeling.

"S'goin on wi'ya?" Demo said in the concerned rumble he rarely got to use.

Demoman was akin to a protector; if you ever were important to him at some point in his life, he would always keep a watchful eye and assist you if you ever were to call on him. After three years of mostly one-way conversation, Pyro knew Demo very well, and she wasn't ready to involve him with her drama.

So she wouldn't enlighten Demo, not yet. One decision made. Now she had to come up with another reason why she was looking perturbed; one that he would believe right away, and that wasn't the sort of situation he could rope himself in on. What was something logical that she would be concerned about?

"Worried about Soldier," she told him, and was happy with Demoman's response.

"Ahh, fuck'em. He'll be fine. Tough lad like 'im can't be all gone, can'e?" his head swayed, "Soons 'e gets on'na field again it'll be like 'e never changed."

"Doesn't it bother you that Ms. Blu messed with his head so bad? She could do the same to us."

Demoman's mouth split into a wild grin. His eye narrowed and he looked around suspiciously, and then leaned in close, "I got plans if thait ever happens, don't you worry your pretty face." He sounded like Spy in Demo's body. Pyro cringed.

"Do I want to know?" she asked, mildly disquieted.

"Nah, ya don't." He pat her shoulder. "Don' worry 'bout Soldier, he's gonna be faine. Got nothin' ta worry 'bout, not least 'til we're back in the saddle."

Pyro raised an eyebrow and Demo's eyes broadened, having realized what he'd just said. He laughed but didn't correct himself. "So," Demo began after pretending to wipe a tear away, "You gonna tell me why you're lookin' off sorts?"

_Uh-oh. _"I did," Pyro tugged on the skin of her bottom lip, "I'm worried about Soldier," she said warily.

"I know. N' I believe thait'cha are. But that ain't why you was turned away from Engineer lookin' like ya was chewin' a mouth full'a Brussels sprouts."

"What's wrong with Brussels sprouts?"

"Faine—a mouth full'a Medic's sauerkraut casserole– n' don't chainge th' subject," Demoman wagged his finger, "I recognize repulsion when I see it. Don't need to have no college da-gree ta figure out you're on th' outs with Engie."

Pyro sighed and stared at the floor. She thought about the square angles and black scuffs, and speculated where they came from. She wondered how many other teams had passed through these same hallways with the same restless thoughts and resentful attitudes. It was so much easier to think about things that didn't matter than to direct her brain power toward Demoman and his penetrating stare.

"Ey," said Demo, and Pyro looked up. "You ain't a good liar n' he ain't good at talkin' 'bout 'is thoughts. I don't know what ya both're goin' on about but if ya got somethin' ta talk ta Engie 'bout, ya gotta be the one ta do it. 'Cause he won't."

Pyro tried not to scowl. Why did _she _have to say anything at all? Why couldn't Engineer initiate the conversation? Was it because she was a—

"It ain't cause you're a lass, lass. Don't be thinkin' all dark-like; Engie may be smart but he's as socially practiced as a goddamn ten year old. Don't let 'is poker face fool you, right? He's soft."

She had to hand it to him; Demoman read people like they were books. Or enormous billboards with flashing text. Or maybe she was just so used to wearing a mask and not worrying about her expressions that she was an easy read. Whatever the case, Demo's advice was usually spot-on. Pyro wanted nothing more than to forget Engineer's flowers and reset their association to before Scout pulled her face off, but ignorance was becoming less of a solution and more of a problem as the days went on. She'd have to do something about Engineer.

Pyro looked up into Demo's eye and summarized all of her frustration and gratitude in a single word, "Thanks."

"Yer wailcome. Now," Demo pulled at his wrinkled white undershirt and pretended to smooth down his short, spongy black hair, "If yuh'll excuse me, I have a date. With my bottle'o'scrumpy."

* * *

When Pyro returned to the common room she spotted the daggers in Engineer's body. He yanked at the wires inside of the pried open television and removed a large rectangle something that was probably necessary for the TV to work. He shoved his tools into his overall pockets and picked himself off of the area rug and left his mess behind, avoiding looking at Pyro as he strode past her.

Pyro sighed heavily as she sat back down in her couch opposite of Sniper. She picked up her newspaper again and folded the edges, crinkled the pages and drummed her fingers on her lap.

"Get yourself a grog n' get some target practice," Sniper said without looking up from behind his newspaper.

"We have a shooting range?"

"Yeah, s'called the desert," he nodded up toward the surface, "Get out for a while n' you'll be right as rain in no time."

"Think I might," said Pyro, although she was certain that getting drunk and firing a gun was more than likely against base protocol. Demo did it all the time though. _And who would catch me doing it?_

The double doors to the common room swung open and Soldier marched on in wearing a white button up shirt that looked a bit too big, even for his bulky muscular frame. Soldier never wore anything except for his BLU uniform or – no, that was it, just variations of his BLU uniform. _This must be Soldier's other half, _she thought as she flattened her expression and prepared herself for social interaction.

"Pyro!" he called her name jovially and trotted along the worn carpet trail wearing his inhumanly dazzling smile. He clutched a black cane with something white on top. "Beautiful morning is it not?" he didn't wait for her reply, "I've got a load of scrap metal in my closet that really needs to find a new home. Be a doll and hand this off to Engineer, would ya?"

None of his speech seemed fair or appropriate. If she weren't afraid of the original Soldier waking up with broken ribs Pyro would have kicked him in the sternum, right then and there. Instead she begrudgingly opened her hand and Soldier dropped a crisp white envelope into it.

"You're the best." His voice was gruff like the real Soldier's, but he didn't use it like he did. The authentic Soldier's laugh was throaty and handsome, and when he added a grin to the ensemble he could have passed as a placard for _Shock and Awe Monthly_ (which he had a lifetime subscription to along with _Guns and Haircuts Magazine_).

Pyro fought back the impulse to slap herself. "Back at you," she said with stagnant enthusiasm.

Soldier stalked off humming an off-beat tune and as the double doors swung shut behind him Pyro threw the envelope onto the coffee table with a _clink. S_he stared at the bulging white paper with distaste for a moment and when she looked to Sniper he was already backing off of his couch evasively and holding up his hand, "He asked you to do it," he said, and bade Pyro farewell with one last mistrustful glance at the little white packet.

Out of all of the options Soldier had for delivery, he chose _her _to hand the parcel off to Engineer. Pyro had half a mind to go give it back to him, but after some optimistic consideration she decided that this might be a good excuse for her to talk to Engineer about all of the dark things that Spy had confessed to her.

Without allowing herself time to dwell and possibly change her mind Pyro stuffed the envelope into her pocket, grabbed two warm beers from the fridge (it had somehow gotten unplugged over the weekend and had become room temperature) and went off to find Engineer.


	41. Not So Practical Problem Solving

**ArmoredSoul: Many thanks to you again ;) Anything I can do for you in return for your services, I am willing!**

**NodTactician: I was so glad to see your review asking about what had happened between Engie/Pyro! At the time I had just written this chapter, and I was excited to see that those past events had not been forgotten! **

**Numbuh Six-sixtysix: *evil snickering* I know ;P I hope I can help with that mayhem/destruction with this next piece...**

**Wolfro007: Yaaaay! ^.^ Thank you, hehe! There will certainly be more chapters ;) Many more. Maybe too many o.O **

**I'm so glad you've all enjoyed my story enough to keep on reading! I read every review, and I am not opposed to criticism at all. In fact, I like it; it helps me improve on things that I might have otherwise overlooked. Thank you all again ;) **

* * *

"Scrap metal?" Engineer asked. He pushed himself out from below the remnants of a rusted truck and wiped his hands on an oily rag tucked into his overalls pocket. Pyro set the beer she'd brought for him on the hood of the truck.

"He said it needs a new home," she explained, and started peeling the label off of her bottle so she would have a reason to divert her eyes.

"Wonder what kinda scrap." Engineer lifted himself to his feet and wiped down his goggles. He took the envelope Pyro offered him, tore one end of the packet and a slightly bent silver key slid into his gloved hand.

"It's in his room?" Engineer studied the key and asked happily enough, "Feelin' well enough to lift some weights?"

Pyro took a deep breath. She had been mentally composed until she glimpsed the tiered troth of metal flowers that Engineer had made her. Seeing the glittering, beautifully welded spiraling metal twists and painted petals made her heart ache and burn at the same time. She conjured up Demo's advice and worked on building her query for Engineer.

She wanted to ask him outright what the flowers had meant exactly, and if it had been at all true what Spy had told her about his prior gift giving practices. However every time Pyro went to speak she just couldn't push the words out. She was apprehensive about how he might answer her, if he would at all. She wished that she could just burn something, or kill someone because that would be so much less complicated. She suddenly found herself missing her job very much.

"Is there somethin' wrong, Pyro?" His voice was slow and precarious. It was a loaded question, and he knew it. Engineer had hoped that ignoring what he'd overheard in Spy's dorm a few days back would be for the best and that everything would smooth out eventually, and he scolded himself now for trusting wishful thinking instead of taking action. Pyro was weary of him because of Spy's insolence, and the desire to grab her by the shoulders and shake her was testing his willpower; she had been downright stupid to listen to Spy.

If he hadn't been wearing his tinted goggles Pyro could have gotten a better read from Engineer. His muscles were taut and his lips were drawn into a thin line. His jaw was tensing repeatedly. It was the same look he wore when he reloaded a sentry or toiled out a strategy for the position of his guns.

This was it. Spy was right. Engineer was a killer of women and he just couldn't help himself. The flowers he made for her might have had little significance in the beginning, but now they had everything to do with the defensive rage that was making Pyro snarl and driving hot blood through her veins.

"Spy was right. You mean to kill me."

"Jesus Christ, Sheppard of Judea. Is that what you think?" Engineer's shoulders melted and he let out his breath. "Is that what Spy told you? That I want to kill you?" he took a step toward Pyro who immediately moved away to keep her distance.

"In a roundabout way, yes," she said. Spy hadn't directly said that Engineer was looking to kill her; it was Medic who suggested that. All Spy had done was tell her how Engineer had gone about murdering women in his past, letting her in on his ritual of giving simulated flowers that were just the right color to trigger his out of sight sentry gun. Spy had left her to assume the rest, as he'd done nothing to reassure her that Engineer meant no harm in his gift. But if Engineer's flowers for her had indeed been the first step of his killing procedure then wouldn't Spy of said so outright, for her protection?

Was it possible that Spy knew that Engineer was harmless, and his ominous semi-warnings had been a ploy to ward Pyro from wanting to have anything to do with the Southerner, therefore trimming Spy's competition for her attention?

A thought dawned on her just then; "How do you know what I was talking to Spy about? How do you know I was talking to Spy at all?" her fury resumed. She put thoughts of Spy aside and concentrated on Engineer.

"Might'a been when you said, 'Spy was right,'" Engineer said tartly.

"But you suspected it, didn't you? You knew that I had talked to Spy, but you weren't quite sure what about. Is that right?"

Engineer sighed. He sat down on his toolbox and leaned his elbows on his knees. He pushed his fingers below his goggles and rubbed his eyes while he told her, "I didn't mean to pry, but I overheard some of what was said between yourself and that-" C_ologne drenched pseudo-Romeo. _"-Between yourself and Spy. About me being dangerous. Do you wanna sit?" he flipped over an empty ten gallon bucket that he'd prepared to catch oil with and gestured for her to sit.

"I'll stand, thanks," said Pyro, wanting to keep her distance and wits about her while she decided if she should be more afraid of Engineer's intentions or Spy's libido. "You followed me?"

"Well, no, not exactly…"

"How _exactly _did it happen then? And what did you hear?"

"Well," Engineer bit his tongue. He had wanted to tell Pyro about the invisibility watch, but the way he had told her in his in his daydream was far happier than how it was turning out. In the most ideal situation, he would have snuck up behind Pyro while invisible, given her a few laughs and then appeared in front of her. She'd think it was _hilarious,_ and would beg him to let her have a try at becoming a ghost. They'd play jokes on Spy, on Heavy, on Soldier, on everyone all the while enjoying each other's company. The fantasy seemed childish now. Expecting best case scenarios and fanciful outcomes only ever prepared for disappointment and misery.

"Your Frenchman isn't the only one who can become invisible," Engineer said with a wilted smile, wishing for intrigue from Pyro and receiving a long hard look instead.

"'My Frenchman.' Huh." She had more to say about this nauseating postulation but there were other topics that needed to be covered first. "So you followed me, while invisible." Pyro quickly skimmed over the last few days, thinking of all of the other things Engineer might have witnessed or overheard without her knowledge.

"I hadn't even done it before that day I overheard you with Spy. I'm not that kinda man." The last thing he needed her to think was that he was a menacing Peeping Tom.

Pyro watched him bitterly. "What kind of man are you then? I'm dying to know."

"I was hoping I could – surprise you with it. So I made myself invisible and went to your dorm to leave you a note about it, when I saw you knocking on Spy's door. It was all by chance that it happened the way it did."

Pyro crossed her arms and looked down at her boot. She bit the inside of her cheek and worked a piece of skin onto her tongue, pulling it and tearing it with her teeth nervously. She'd never done anything more that day in Spy's dorm than give him a better view of her top half, and even then she hadn't taken off the bandages compressing her chest or her white tank top. She felt quite bad about leading Spy on, and the guilt was worse now that she knew Engineer overheard. "What else did you hear?"

Engineer's heart raced and he wiped his sweating palms on his pant legs. He didn't want to think about Pyro in Spy's bed. He didn't want to think of Pyro in _anyone's_ bed, with the exception of his own. Then he froze. Was this actually happening? He told himself he'd keep no feelings for anyone in BLU; all of their lives were contracted to a more than likely early end. Only pain could come from falling into something more than fondness. He couldn't be attached to Pyro _and _maintain a professional relationship.

The voice in his head took its turn playing Devil's advocate; what about his job was at all professional? He was a hired killer, contracted by a company that had no qualms about sending their employees into deadly situations with extravagant weapons and goals that were always _just _out of their reach. No matter how many stations they captured, intelligence they recovered or bombs they carted into the heart of enemy bases, there was always more work to be done and always more REDs to be blown to bits. Who was to say he couldn't enjoy himself on the highway to Hell? But it wasn't he who was enjoying himself, it was Spy. Engineer ground his teeth.

"I heard you, with Spy," He said suddenly. The little voice of reason in Engineer's head was precisely that, little, and it's yelling was no louder than that of a terrified mouse. "You think it's smart to bed every man who compliments you?"

"_What?" _

"All Spy had to do to earn a free ride was tell ya you were a looker."

"You better stop right there-"

"Else what? What'll happen if I thought you were a whore and told ya just that?"

Pyro wound back her arm and let her fist fly at Engineer's cheek, but he had read her body language and prepared himself to block with his forearm. He coiled his hand around her wrist and yanked her down; Pyro countered by twisting against his thumb and breaking free. As she pulled her arm back she was able to hit Engineer's hard hat off of his head with her other hand, but that gave him the opportunity to wrench both hands around her wrist and force her to her knees. Pyro strained to turn her elbow and landed one good punch into his thigh muscle, but it wasn't enough to abate his grip.

When both of their arms were locked in one another's Pyro reared her head back and hammered at Engineer's forehead with her own. Multicolored stars splashed into her peripheral vision but she continued; she bashed again and his hold lessened, and after one more her left hand was released. She seized his collar and heaved him off of the toolbox using her leg to tumble him above her and onto the floor. Pyro kicked him away and staggered to her feet; dark rings encircled her sight. Engineer wasted no time and was on her again, this time at her back with one arm around her neck and the other across her midsection. He put pressure on her throat and she sputtered, clawing at his arm and kicking backwards at his feet.

Pyro choked and Engineer eased his embrace, "Spy is a double crossing son of a bitch; this is what he wants. He wants you to hate me!" he whispered harshly into her ear while she struggled.

"You won't need him to make me hate you," she wheezed, "At this rate."

While Engineer thought on this Pyro held on tight onto the arm around her neck and at the descent of a slight jump she was able to flip him over her shoulder. He went back first onto the floor and Pyro immediately fell onto him, jamming her knee against his throat.

Engineer thrashed about for a few seconds until Pyro forced her hands upon his face. She worked the goggles off from around his head and tossed them aside.

"Do you mean to kill me, Engineer? Or just offend me?" she was breathing hard as she held his head between her hands and watched his eyes. He looked far less intimidating without the tinted glass that separated him from the rest of the world. His pale blue irises were wide; Pyro couldn't be sure if they were becoming moist from the influx of bright light or for some other reason.

Pyro watched his Adam's apple bob and he opened his mouth slightly to speak, "I'd do myself in before I could give you so much as a shiner," he told her softly, and he meant it from the depths of his self.

"I told Spy once that I'd kill him if he ever lied to me like that," she pressed her knee and forced his chin up, "The same goes for you. If you ever, _ever _try your sweet talk on me, I'll toss an incendiary grenade into your bed while you sleep." Pyro bore into Engineer's eyes until he closed them and turned away.

"You look at me when I'm threatening you, you son of a bitch!" she forced him to look at her, "If I ever went to bed with anyone it would be none of your goddamn business!" Her short red hair stuck against the ridges of her scars. As she yelled the snarled skin stretched and crunched, defining her jaw and cheek bones beneath like a skeleton wrapped in creased plastic.

She shook him by the ears and his skull clunked against the cement, "You won't control me!"

Pyro squeezed Engineer's neck against the floor with her knee and as he scraped and clawed at her she realized just how much she missed the taste of war; she'd been off the battlefield and out of harm's way for far too long and this sip of fury was like a mouthful of water in the midst of a seemingly endless desert.

Engineer pulled at her jumpsuit and tried in vain to rock her off of him. His eyes were wide and he flailed, and Pyro pressed down harder. She grit her teeth and watched him struggle, seething as his face turned red and feeling her anger pour into him.

Pyro wouldn't have stopped if she hadn't heard the faint _snap-_ _crunch _of Engineer's neck below her knee. He immediately became still. Pyro's rage was doused with a bucket of ice as she gaped in awe with eyes as wide as dinner plates.

In the rushed minutes following the brawl her thought process sunk back into its most basic emotionless etiquette while she acted on getting Engineer stable. She stretched his eye open and watched his pupil responded by shrinking, then hastily grabbed the rag stuffed in his pocket and made a barrier for his head to lean against so it wouldn't roll or move. He still had a pulse, and it was surprisingly strong for someone whose neck was just broken. She looked all around for a dispenser she could drag him to, but the only Provisions box she found was just a hollow aluminum skeleton.

As she ran out of things to do Pyro's brain slowed and her purposeful darting transformed into a clamoring, nervous gait. She found herself standing beside Engineer as the previously silent voice of her conscience swelled to the forefront of her attention. The initial violence-induced adrenaline had washed out, replaced by pulsating guilt.

What should she do now? Abandoning the warehouse was not an option; deserting responsibility was cowardly. Medic could help, but he'd drag her over the coals for neglecting to manage her temper in addition to disregarding his advice and avoiding Engineer. She was less than eager to divulge her mistakes to someone with such a haughty attitude.

After thinking through scores of dead-ends and chewing her fingernails to the quick she admitted to herself that Medic was the only man within a thousand mile radius who could do any good to Engineer. After she checked his pulse one last time, Pyro swept her pride under the carpet and bolted out of the armory.


	42. Guilt and Gall

So lately I've been playing around in 3Ds MAX, if only to someday be able to create images of my version of the TF2 characters. I'm so sick of not having the technology to upload images direct from my brain. What are you doing, Microsoft? Apple? Google?

Invent me a dream-picture-unloader within the next five years, okay? Is that so much to ask? While you're at it, I want to be able to be to teleport. Get on that. ASAP.

**DeathByBunnies**: Thanks! I've been sitting on chapters more, reviewing more and such because often I'd post something and go back and think, "_(explative-deleted)_ why didn't I think of that before I posted it??" So things may come slower, but I feel it's better quality. I appreciate your feedback!

**AreYouStillThere**: Muahaha. I'm so happy that you said that, I'd been hoping that I conveyed that right.

**Numbuh six-sixtysix**: If she ever finds out!! *evil snicker*

**Eric G**: For the sake of not spoiling the next few chapters, I am neither confirming nor denying the accuracy of your suggestion ;D

As always, props to **ArmoredSoul** for being so reliable!

* * *

Just as the vaulted armory door clanged shut Engineer's eyes flicked open. There were few pains that he had difficulty adapting to, so the strain in his neck and the soon to be egg on the aft of his skull were only mild afflictions. He let his arms and legs lie slack and remained just as Pyro had left him. He hadn't passed out, hadn't even wavered on the brink of numbness when he felt the _pop_ in his spine, but found himself wishing he had, though not out of reluctance to physical pain.

It would have been easier to dream in unrest than to remain conscious and pretend not to be; at least then he wouldn't have to suppress the clashing waves of grief and atonement that even now were pulling him asunder. The moment Pyro swung at his face the doubt he had of her entertaining sentiments for him were washed away; women didn't get infuriated over anemic affections, and he felt it was safe to assume that because Pyro reacted so sprightly meant that in some bizarre way she had actually been trying to make him return the appreciation.

Nothing was cut and dry to Engineer save mechanical things and Einstein's theory, and even then he had revisions for the latter so they may better fit into his own streamlined context. Women were confusing, illogical creatures, and he was just now at the age of thirty-five coming to understand a fraction of the conundrum. To women, everything shone in uncertain shades of grey and they were all indecisive by default. Sometimes they spat irrelevant ideas just to throw you off, it seemed. There was one factor that was clear with Pyro, Engineer found, and that was that she lacked the passive retaliation that defined ninety-nine percent of other women. Pyro resolved her problems with violence, and had no fear of fighting a man. Or running at them full on with a flamethrower.

Engineer sighed; he was barreling down a twisted road and his brain was stomping on the breaks, while his heart had sabotaged the lines. He'd never been so confounded and at the same time altogether convinced in his entire life.

He brought his left hand above his face and shimmied his glove down to check his watch. He estimated it had been three minutes since Pyro left him; if all was going as planned, Spy should have intercepted her and persuaded her _not _to find Medic.

As fond as he was of Medic, there were things the Doctor just couldn't comprehend; empathy and cooking were on the top of the list, followed by well-intentioned untruths and theoretical physics (they'd had a doozy of a feud contemplating _that_). Engineer's plan, his 'End-All Archetype,' as he called it in his head, would wedge nicely in Medic's list right after harmless white lies.

There was no one on which he could divulge his scheme who wouldn't become offended by it, and Spy was no exception seeing how he was subject around which the plan had been contrived. Spy had become an inconvenience, like an undomesticated dog that terrorized your chickens and scampered at the sight of you when you galumphed onto your porch to go shoot at it, and returned to bark and whine just as you went back inside.

Problem solving was Engineer's forte, and he'd be damned if he let the thorn in his foot called Spy carry on. He'd fabricated a cover story, a mask to mislead the crafty Frenchman and for the time being Engineer was playing gauche. He initiated his program by confessing to Spy the day prior that he was greatly concerned that Pyro might think ill of him, and requested the help of the agent's acumen to remedy this.

Engineer knew that Spy had influenced Pyro's lack of faith in him by twisting the facts of his history. Sure, he'd killed a number of women in cold blood as payment for their husband's sins, and the crafted flowers had played a notable role, but that did not mean that his gift to Pyro held the same value. There was no way he could convince her of this, not right off the bat; she wouldn't listen if he confronted her about it. She would have to be the one to inquire about his past, but before that could happen Engineer would have to turn the tables and cause Pyro to question everything Spy had told her.

For every move he made Spy would counter, and Engineer fully expected him to calculate his asking help with Pyro as an attempt to draw him into a pitfall. Spy would do all in his power to discover his actual goal, and therein laid the foremost advantage that Engineer had over his covert antagonist. Inciting Pyro to attack him had been Engineer's objective, and though he hadn't expected her to go as far as she had, the injury had achieved the same end; a guilty seed should sprout in Pyro. And as long as Spy's intrusive makeup remained ardent then within the next hour Engineer's thumb would be poised to pin down upon the presumptuous infiltrator.

"_I need to tell Pyro how I feel about her,"_ he said to Spy the day before. _"I don't know how she'll react, but I'll probably need a few stitches and a splint afterwards."_ He petitioned him to watch outside his warehouse for Pyro and prevent her from straying to the infirmary in the event she reciprocated negatively to his 'confession.'

"_What will I get out of eet?"_ Spy asked, because every favor was an opportunity for personal gain. Engineer forecasted this much, and plotted respectively.

"_Access to something Ms. Blu would have my neck for if she knew I found."_ He told Spy where he might find the key to the room where he'd find his payment, but advertised no further. _"You'll have to surmount the protective measures that I put in place yourself. It's no fun to perforate a paradox."_

Engineer snapped his eyes shut as the armory door ground open. He recognized the slogging, dragging footsteps as Pyro's combat boots, and felt Spy's presence coat the room like a viscous slime.

As confident as he was in his abilities, Engineer wondered how close Spy might get to the truth before the curtain caught flame. Even if he did envision his strategy before its apex, there was little even a nefarious backbiting pundit like Spy could do to prevent it.

Engineer kept Pyro's semblance in his mind's eye to help him relax as Spy sloped around him. The unscrupulous bastard may think he's as clever as Satan in snake-form, but those who beguile others are often easily tempted themselves. And as Einstein once said, "Force always attracts men of low morality."

* * *

Pyro grunted and kicked at one of Engineer's toolboxes on the way out of the armory and all of its contents clattered to the floor. She howled at the mess she'd made, stomped into the hallway and slammed the vaulted door behind her.

How had she let it go that far? Had she learned nothing from Soldier's mistake? She was so clouded in anger that she nearly pulled her hair out from the roots at the sight of Spy leaning tranquilly in the corridor. "What the fuck are _you_ doing here?!" she hollered, furious that he could be calm when her blood was boiling hotter than the flaming river Phlegethon.

Spy calmly raised his eyebrows and pinched the cigarette from his mouth, sucking down the brume of smoke before it escaped the brim of his lip. "I could ask you ze same zhing."

"Just what I need," Pyro growled as she past him, "More stalkers."

Spy pulled at her shoulder as she walked by. "Who else iz following you?"

She ruffled him off and tried not to imagine forcing him to eat his cigarette. _Get it under control. Relax, before you say or do something else you regret._ She counted quietly to ten, ignored her pursuant and continued toward the infirmary. Spy slid laterally and corralled her against the wall. "What iz troub'ling you, _cheri_?"

Pyro's streak of repose took a nose dive. "You are! Get out of my way!" she shoved him to one side and stomped away. Spy bungeed after her and planted himself at her front. "My fucking god—I will burn every bone in your fucking body if you don't back off," the irate arsonist forewarned through clenched teeth. With a well-mannered bow, Spy let her pass and kept quiet until she was a few body lengths away.

"What did you do?" a hint of accusation was weaved through Spy's voice even though he had no idea precisely what she had done. It was obvious to him that something was amiss, something more than Engineer had planned for; she wouldn't be livid and stressed if everything was fine. And, knowing Pyro's temper, she was most likely responsible for whatever it was that had happened (she'd broken his nose twice, given Demo a bruised rib, Engineer a splintered shin, and flattened Scout's nose). Pyro was easy for him to guess; her personality was as serene as a hurricane.

Pyro's composure dwindled. She turned around and looked at Spy, void of any reaction other than shock. _Did he see? _She shut her mouth when she realized it had fallen.

Spy ego ballooned; he had, once again, read her correctly and said just the right thing at exactly the right time. "Ma cheri," Spy sashayed to her side, "Iz zhere anyzhing I can do for you?" He slathered empathy onto his face in the form of puckered eyebrows and an artfully slanted mouth. If he'd never become an undercover agent, he very well could have been a motion picture celebrity.

Pyro hesitated. It would be nice if she could contract Spy to fix her problems, but then he'd probably never leave her shadow for the rest of her life if she asked him to do that. Still, it was tempting to give in to laziness and just have him do all of the work.

"I can 'elp." He slid his hands over her shoulders, intent on coercing her into accepting his offer, but only causing her to snap back into a more normal state of mind. "No, you can't. I've got to go, _now_." She shirked his embrace and advanced down the hall. Maybe she would need his help eventually, if Ms. Blu were ever to discover this event and have her committed like Soldier…

Spy stiffened and maneuvered around to face the pyrotechnician, forcing her again to halt in her tracks. "You zhink I 'aven't been in your position before? I am no two-pence proletarian. You will only makes zhings worse with your erratic temperament, petite. _Let me 'elp you_."

It took nearly all of Pyro's remaining willpower to keep her fists in check; she bit down on her tongue until she tasted blood. "What do you possibly think you could do to help? Last time I counted, _this_," she thumbed back in the direction of the armory, "was the fourth time I've fought my own goddamn men! And not just fought, I _broke his neck!_ Unless you have a Medi gun hidden somewhere in that suit of yours—up somewhere I don't want to know – or you've mysteriously inherited Christ-like healing powers — Engineer is going to be a quadriplegic for the rest of his life, if he isn't dead already!"

Spy's spirits surged with delight. He wanted to grab Pyro's shoulders and kiss her. "Did 'e make moves on you?" Every time he'd made a move on her he'd had to get the bridge of his nose realigned by Medic. Engineer must have done something quite awful to deserve a broken neck.

"What?! No! He called me a whore and then I—"

"He _what_?" asked Spy, deftly reaching for a celebratory cigarette. He felt like dancing.

Pyro looked away and ran her hand down the scarred half of her face, pulling at the numb skin and wishing her psyche had inherited the same insensitivity. "I threw the first punch and after that it was mostly a blur. I couldn't believe what I'd done until it was over." She bit her sore tongue again, swallowed more blood and shouted the most obscene phrases she could think of in her head. "I need to find the Doc."

Spy's grin wrapped around his face. Could this day get any better? Engineer had completely wrecked his chances with Pyro. "No no, no need, ma petit choufleur. Engineer will 'eal in time, zhere iz nozzing for you to worry about, nozzing at all."

"Do you want him to die?" Pyro looked aghast at Spy.

"Ma cheri," Spy was bubbling cheer, "I will take care of everyzing." He lessened the distance between them and slid his hands down Pyro's arms, looking down into her eyes. It wasn't hard for him to give her his most charming grin, but it was extraordinarily difficult to hold back from leaning down ever so slightly and pressing her lips against hers, and before he could stop himself, his head began to bow…

Pyro wriggled away and jostled him to one side, "I'll do the same to you, don't test me, we have to find Medic," she said dispiritedly, exhausted from moderating her attitude and muting her worry. Spy recovered quickly and straightened his tie, set his unlit cigarette between his lips and smiled. He wasn't at all put off by her rejection; another opportunity would arise in time. "I hardly suppose the good Doctor's contribution is necessary. Shall we appraise ze damage?" he offered, and Pyro's face fell.

The unsullied image of Engineer came flooding back to her. She reminisced to before she knew he was a literal lady-killer, to the day he'd given her the only gift she'd ever gotten while in BLU, when she wished she could have shown her appreciation with something more than just a heartfelt thank-you. She couldn't leave him broken in his own armory. Her heart squeezed.

"Shh, my love," Spy rubbed his hands over Pyro's shoulders and the thought more than crossed her mind to break his neck, too. "We 'ave all gone zhrough zo much worse zhan a mere snapped vertebra." He showed his snakelike grin. Spy edged past Pyro toward Engineer's warehouse, lightly tugging at her sleeve. For a few seconds, Pyro was slightly more than halfway convinced that Spy might know what he was talking about and dubiously followed him back into the armory.


	43. What doesn't kill you

I know it's been a bit! The next few chapters will come out much faster, seeing how I already have them written, and they're going through the finishing process now. Again, thanks for the reviews and kudos-wrapped-in-a-bow to ArmoredSoul ;)

**Gordon Frohman**: You aren't a prick! I appreciate all critiquing. I think out of all of the characters, Pyro is one of the most difficult to portray, because there is so little know about her/it. I've been trying to walk the line between aggressive-confused-monster and Mary-Jane-Pyro and every bit of review helps me realize what I may have skipped over to failed to notice about the character. She has been a bit over-violent and at other times almost soft and under-spoken, and that's just about who I thought she was. She hardly has a good idea about who she is, and suffers from both identity and gender confusion, and the only real way she's found to make herself feel right has been by lashing out and becoming violent, and inflicting confusion and fear with her weapon of choice on the war front. I see your point about the near random violence, and I will make it a point to pay more attention to what she does and how I let you know why she's doing what she's doing. Much appreciated ;)

* * *

Demoman leaned back in his chair with a smudged glass of white liquor balanced on his knee. He rolled the butt of his cigar between his teeth and stared at the short pile of loose black powder on his desk less than an arm's length away.

His former wife's face drifted into his mind's eye and his heart throbbed. He pictured the black Mercedes rolling into the driveway of his house, and clenched his teeth as he watched his wife answer the door with a smile. He bit into the cigar as he visualized the look of her lips as that stranger pressed against them. He'd never seen the man's face but his imagination had to have someone to blow apart as the house imploded, so he inferred the features of his wife's mystery lover and hated every trait on his invented guise.

Demoman snatched the glass from his leg, wedged it beside his cigar and swallowed, but the searing fluid did little to quell the remorse in his chest. He shifted his attention to the black dress he'd crafted for Pyro, studying the soft ripples of fabric as it hung over set of rusted bolts in his workbench backboard. He'd rescued the dress from the Beatty city hospital for her before they'd left. He'd almost gotten shot for that dress if it hadn't been for Heavy who'd come to his aid (though he would've been fine without his help, and even if he had gotten shot it would have been worth it).

He swayed onto his feet, slid one hand behind the fabric and gathered it in a fist below his nose. He breathed in deep; the baroque mix of musty asbestos, matches and an epicene perfume stirred him, and then his heart sunk even lower than it had been five seconds ago.

The rickety chair accepted him as he fell back into it. He wished he could shut down without dreaming. Demo sucked his cigar until the cherry turned bright red and took it between his two longest fingers. He rested his palm against the edge of his desk and let his hand droop, allowing the embers of his cigar to hover dangerously close to the collection of black powder in front of him.

_Boom, doom-doom-doom, _"Yo, you in there, D?" _Boom-boom,_ "Open up!" Demoman rocked himself from his chair and stuck the cigar between his teeth. He dropped the empty glass onto the desk and jogged to the door to let his visitor in.

"'Bout time," Scout squeezed through the crack in the door and into the warehouse. "Whachu doin'?" the youngest asked. "Bakin' a pie," grunted Demo.

Scout's head bobbed over his host's shoulders and he sniffed the air hopefully. Demo rolled his eyes. "Wha'de want?" he said and trailed back to his workbench.

"Okay, so uh, yeah. I need some uh— some stuff." Scout followed his drunken team mate farther into the darkened workshop, arriving at a jaunted desk sitting below a single yellowed light bulb. The dim light swung smoothly on its long leash high in the rafters, and was the only source of light until Demo hit his fist against a black push button on the wall, calling the florescent tubes above to whine and click to life.

Scout took in his surroundings, first noticing the stack of lopsided mattresses in the middle of the room. The partially uncovered bed had a head-sized crater of charred stuffing in the center. A smattering of glass shards glittered at one end, a bent picture frame lying on top. Scout couldn't tell who or what it was of at this distance. One of the many shelving sets that stored grenade components looked like Demo had unsuccessfully tried to climb it and broke most of the planks in the process. He'd left the contents in disarray all over the floor. "Am'I inner-uptin' sumthin'?"

"Nah," waved Demo, and then he grumbled a few sentences Scout couldn't understand. Demo was the strangest man he'd ever met, and hardly made more sense than Soldier did on a good day (albeit it seemed like much less violent sense).

Even the rocket-loving war mongrel was more predictable than the one-eyed staggering black man, who Scout had seen transform from a laughing, ruthless killer to a quiet muddle of self-loathing all within the confines of an hour. Though he was familiar with his drastic transitions, Scout hadn't seen Demo do this since before the ceasefire. Maybe he was making up for lost time. "Listen, D, I gotta fav'ah ta ask ya," he shuffled close to his team mate. In any case, Demo's business wasn't his and he wasn't interested in contracting his off-focus craziness.

Demo blinked hard. "N' wha woul'tha be?" he asked with a mouthful of cigar.

"You got any, uh," Scout nodded, shrugged and grimaced at the same time while looking expectantly at Demoman, who hadn't moved. "You got anythin' _fun_?" They stared at each other.

"_Fun? _Wha…?"

"C'mon, you know, like summin' that'd mess me up."

The explosives expert's eyebrow rose above his black patch. "Grenades?"

"No—I mean—" Scout ran his hand over his head and shifted around nervously. He wished Demo would just take the hint. "Summin' that'ud mess my head up. Get me goin'," he tumbled his hands in front of him and then whispered, "Ya know, funny cigarettes?"

What the hell was Scout talking about? "I'onno wha you want fra'me, lad. Come back when ye c'n tell me." Demo went to pour himself a drink. Scout waded on his heels, "You must have summin', right? Like weed or—yeah, you got any weed?"

"Weed? Whaddu I look like," he skipped the pouring and went straight to drinking, emptying the jug into his throat, "a hustler?" Alcohol was his only drug of choice; he thought that much was obvious.

Scout shook his head. "Wha? No. What you got then?"

"Ain't got shit. Why you lookin' fer reefer? Bettah yet," he paused to belch, "why d'ye think I got any?"

"Ahh fah'get it," he shuffled and looked around anxiously.

Demo's chair creaked as he plopped into it. "Got tha wrong man," he said and marked Scout with his eye. The boy should know better than to ask about things like that and he had half a mind to tell him, but kids hardly listened when they were scolded; the lessons that stayed with you were the ones that you learnt on your own, and Demo would feel just _awful _if he let this opportunity pass both of them by.

"So yer lookin' fer weed, huh?" he puffed at the cigar and Scout turned attentively back to his host. Demo leaned forward in his chair and Scout came in close to listen to the older man's harsh whisper, "Don't tell 'em I told ya, but the _Aussie _is tha one ya wanna go to, fer _that._"

Scout bowled over and almost fell, "_Snipes? _Snipes grows weed? Kinda always figured that," he added, not wanting to seem too surprised and blind for failing to notice that illegal substances were being grown on base without his knowledge.

"Yea," Demo nodded seriously and continued, "n' the Doc makes absinth. Didn' ya know?" Scout would probably come back with a bullet hole in his chest and a scalpel in his eye after he asked those two for weed and absinth, respectively. The young one was easily fooled, and it made Demo congested with regalement.

"Huh. Makes sense." Scout pulled thoughtfully at his chin and Demoman held back a snort, "Yea, they're good at keepin' secrets," he went to take another swig to hide his face and swore loudly as the last few drops spilt onto his winkled white undershirt. Demo clunked the empty jug onto his workbench. He scratched his head. That was his fourth gallon in less than two days.

"I gotta—_hic_—I'll be back." Demoman stood and wavered on his feet and for thirty seconds tried to latch his bottle to his utility belt until he realized he wasn't wearing one. He settled for holding it in his left hand and gave a salute to Scout with his right. "You stayin' 'ere? Dun touch _nuthin,'" _he slurred and pointed an accusatory finger.

Scout made no effort to hide his cynical pucker as he considered the mess around him, "I ain't stayin', creepy as shit anyway," he added below his breath and followed Demo's confused trail to the door and then into the hall. "Hey, D, where you gettin' all the whisky from? Can I get somma that?"

"Ha!" Demo yelled as he blundered against the wall for support. "Top secret—_hic_—can't be tellin' ya 'bout all mah dealers, boyo." He hesitated to turn the corner leading to Engineer's armory, but before he could finish worrying that Scout might follow him to the location of his stash, he forgot what he'd been waiting for and lurched onward to refill his alcohol.

* * *

Spy was determined to root himself below Pyro's skin, which was why he'd felt wary about what the Laborer had told him the day before regarding the plans to confess to the woman that he too had his eye on. He held nothing but antipathy for Engineer, and was sure that his disclosures were part of a plot to blemish his reputation with the one who held both their focus like moths to a flame. Spy had been tittering on paranoia, running through a multitude of outcomes and had been ready to employ some drastic measures to rid himself of Engineer, until Pyro did the work for him. The dunce should have expected such a severe beating was imminent by a beautifully furious woman.

Spy frolicked around Engineer's unresponsive body with glee. He checked his neck where a purple bruise was developing and gave Pyro an appreciative nod that made her feel even more horrid, which she hadn't thought possible. He stood straight after a few seconds of review and nodded quite coolly. "He'll be fine." He almost sounded upset.

"I broke his neck! What do you mean, 'He'll be fine?' You aren't a goddamn doctor, I can't believe I'm not at the infirmary right now-"

Spy didn't let Pyro's rant go on and stuck his hand over her mouth. "The residual effects of ze Medi gun will be more zhan adequate to resolve any injuries he's sustained."

If Spy hadn't been a valuable source of information at that moment, Pyro would have crushed his hand instead of swatting it away. "What?"

"Why doesn't Demoman 'ave a hardened liver? Why 'aven't I been 'ospitalized for chain smoking, eh? Why 'as Scout recovered from a dosage of drugs ample enough to kill a large tiger?" Spy lured. "What about you, Miss Broke-your-back-in-zhree-places-and-walks-today?" Pyro hadn't realized that those were things that might kill you. Rockets, fire and bullets were the things that killed you; not whisky, cigarettes, and little pills (well, maybe little pills).

"You can walk, I can smoke, and Demo can drink 'imself into ze depths of inebriation every night and day, all zhanks to ze Medi gun," Spy explained as he idly flattened his tie. "'Ow old iz Medic?"

"Why does _that _matter at a time like this?" Pyro growled, upset with herself for humoring her enigmatic consort. Spy held up a hand, "I promise I will tell you. Please, 'ow old iz Medic?"

"Forty or so. No older than forty-two," she spat cantankerously. She hadn't ever put much thought into his age; Medic had drifts of silver hair above his ears and his expression was always careworn. He had a masculine, wizened look about him and would certainly make a formidable adversary. Experience was often more valuable than young reflexes and because of this Medic was one of only two men that Pyro thought she might not get the best of in a fair one-on-one weaponless fight, with the other being Heavy.

Scout, Sniper, Engineer (who she'd already proven herself against), Demoman on a day he was sober (his tolerance to pain as well as his pride were otherworldly after a few hours of drinking) and Spy were all skilled combatants, but Pyro felt her visceral prowess outweighed the height and size advantages they had over her. You couldn't run with ninety-seven pounds of suit and weaponry without developing a cache strength and stamina.

She couldn't imagine anyone, man or woman, taking this job and surviving it if they were older than forty-five at the very most, so what Spy told her next had been quite unpredicted.

The Frenchman smiled; he looked down at his cigarette and told her plainly, "'E iz fifty-two. And you know what else? Heavy iz fifty-seven."

"I had no idea, and kudos to them for staying in shape but what does this have to do with anything? Are you even thinking about Engineer, about how he might die because of me? Here you are telling me that Heavy and the Doc look great for their ages while he lies here with a broken neck?"

"Ze residual effects of ze Medi gun, zhat iz, unnatural regeneration even when not in ze beam, saved you from becoming paralyzed. Any normal person would never 'ave been able to walk again, even eef zhey saw a doctor immediately. Zhings like liver, lung and age damage are easily erased." Spy stepped a bit closer and said seriously, "None of us look a day older since ze first time we were 'ealed by ze Medi gun."

Pyro eyed him skeptically. "If that's at all true, why did Medic have to bring me to the Beatty hospital then? If I'd just heal magically?" she wriggled her fingers and mocked him. As she brought her hands back to her side she recalled the time she'd punched a hole through her closet door and had to go to Medic to remove the splinters. She hadn't thought to take off her glove and look at it initially, and when she'd gotten to the infirmary he'd done nothing except for pull out some straggling pieces of wood and apply an oily ointment. She hadn't thought much on the fact that Medic hadn't used his heal gun on her that day.

"Eet iz not an end-all solution to all injuries. Serious damage to ze spine takes much longer to 'eal, eef eet can be done wizhout ze Medi gun at all. You remember what you told ze Doctor on ze train? You said you were cold, a sign of severe nerve damage. Ze spinal cord iz ze 'ardest to 'eal, and yours waz beyond ze abilities of your amplified 'ealing to take care of wizzout assistance. Eef you 'ad not damaged your spine so badly you could 'ave waited. Eef broken nerves 'eal too slowly zhey are extremely difficult eef not impossible to repair afterwards. Your scars, my love; even after hours under ze Medi beam, 'ave not faded away. Zhat iz ze way you 'ealed, and ze way you will stay." Spy enjoyed her scars, even if she did not.

Pyro beheld him uncertainly. It didn't seem _that _farfetched, considering what the Medi gun had done for her in the past, but to think that it would improve the way she healed without it was tilting into science fiction.

"I will demonstrate." Spy's butterfly knife appeared in his right hand and he gracefully flipped it over and around until it landed in his palm. He drew up his left sleeve and before Pyro could ask him if he were insane, he slid the knife along his wrist and blood leaked from the split in his ivory skin.

If he had done this with the Medi gun on him, the wound would have healed before the blade was withdrawn. Pyro watched in silence as Spy's self inflicted, two-inch slice coagulated and shrunk until only a thin string of blood remained. He licked the line of red away (taking care to stare down Pyro while he used his tongue) and the cut had vanished entirely. It had been less than two minutes. "And I 'ardly get 'ealed but maybe twice on ze field."

She looked at Engineer; the purple bruise that had covered his neck was now an insipid shadow. She felt stupid that she'd never noticed any of this before and suddenly felt like laughing. She thought of Medic and Heavy, the duo who were exposed to the Medi gun far more than anyone else, and wondered how long they'd known about this. Engineer wouldn't die. A great weight was lifted off her shoulders.

As far as Pyro was concerned, she was already licensed to die and had no qualms with death. Her job put her in the face of it almost every day (or it had until this never-ending ceasefire) but that didn't mean that the idea—reality – of her near-eternal youth and regeneration didn't make her stomach fill with butterflies and her lips pull up into an outrageous grin.

"Wait," she paused, her smile regressed and she felt just like Atlas again, "You said spine injuries don't always heal correctly without the gun? I broke Engineer's neck," her attention reverted to her sprawled out team mate.

Spy exhaled impatiently and he dragged Pyro's hand onto to Engineer's wrist. "Do you feel a pulse? Iz 'e warm?" Pyro put her fingers on his forearm. His skin felt quite hot. "So Engineer is healing right now? He'll be able to walk?"

"Of course," Spy said, closely watching Pyro still gripping Engineer. "I daresay 'e should be waking in an hour's time."

"Well then," she stood back up and sighed, "That's a relief."

"Yes," he said with trace disappointment and an apathetic smile. Pyro stood with her arms crossed and analyzed Spy quite differently than she ever had before. She estimated he stood at about six-foot-two (he was a whole head taller than she was) and his height combined with his broad, angular shoulders made him look deceitfully lanky beneath the crisp folds of his striped suit. His nimble piano fingers tumbled a freshly lit cigarette when Pyro began studying him. He took a drag and let the smoke emerge from his lips in thick swirls. Although his face was mostly covered, Pyro could see the beginnings of crow's feet at the contours of his eyes when he grinned wide enough. It would be much easier to discern his age without the mask.

"So, what are you then, sixty?" Pyro sounded mirthful but the effect on Spy was evident. He started plucking non-existent dust from his lapel. "Do I look eet?"

Pyro chortled. "When's your birthday?"

Spy checked his watch. Pyro frowned. "How old are you?"

"Ze point I waz trying to make— my love—iz zhat ze effects of ze Medi gun linger for years after eet's use, depending on 'ow often and extensively eet iz used for— "

"Sixty? No, sixty-three? Could you be seventy?"

"—and 'eal an assortment of ailments—"

"—Not possibly in your eighties—"

"—in ze dispensers ze Medi gun technology iz also used—"

"—might be old enough to be my grandfather."

"—which iz why you shouldn't worry about Engineer."

The two stared at each other, Pyro with a slanted grin and Spy with a look of obvious disinterest to her subject matter. Pyro's worry for Engineer had lessened considerably, and she accredited her respite and quick-to-ease attitude had something to do with the fact that Engineer might have been plotting her demise.

"So why doesn't Medic look like he's twenty? He's always wearing his pack on the field, and the gun leaks, doesn't it? Shouldn't he look more around Scout's age if he's always exposed?"

Spy was pleased that the conversation had shifted topics and gave Pyro a soft smirk. "I am not ze one to be telling you zhat. You'll 'ave to ask ze good Doctor 'imself." He pat her on the arm and strolled away toward one of Engineer's workbenches that entrenched the walls. He nonchalantly surveyed the collection of tools suspended against a perforated wooden backboard.

Pyro sat down on the ten-gallon bucket beside Engineer and watched his chest rise and fall as he breathed. His eyes moved sporadically beneath their lids and she hoped that whatever he dreamt was void of revenge. She wondered what Engineer would feel like when he awoke; he'd probably have one hell of a stiff neck. She leaned back against the partially dismantled truck so she could extend her legs and nudged her foot hopefully against Engineer's gloved hand.

Was an apology warranted once Engineer came to? Should she thank Spy for saving her the trouble and embarrassment of rousing Medic? For the first time ever, Pyro felt indebted to Spy. If she'd gone to the Doctor or encountered anyone else along the way, this day might have gone much differently. She felt grateful, and had no idea what to do about it.


	44. Better Than Christmas

I know it's been a while! There has been a lot of editing and changing and rearranging and all that good stuff, but the following chapters should come pretty quickly ;)

* * *

Pyro snapped back to reality at the sound of grinding metal. Spy was tugging open each of the workbench drawers and examining the contents. "What are you doing?" she asked dully as he pounded a particularly troublesome drawer shut. He moved on to a dented grey toolbox and flipped open the lid. "Looking for somezing stolen from me," he replied without interrupting his search.

"What would Engineer need to steal from _you_?" she stood and leaned on the truck to give him a disbelieving frown.

Spy picked his cigarette from his mouth and gave Pyro his best bedroom eyes and a toothy grin, "Ozzer zhan my charm and immeasurable wit?"

Pyro snorted and turned back to (a still unconscious) Engineer with her cheeks pinned in a high smile. Spy could appear guileless when he wanted to, and with just the right twinge of cheek and brow he could make her feel like she was the only person in the world that he had any sentiment for.

And _that _was exactly the reason why she resented him so adamantly, Pyro reminded herself. Spy's smiles were habituated imitations of emotion; acting was basically his job. She frowned and tried to go back to what she'd been thinking on before Spy distracted her, only to be sidetracked again by his groan of approval.

"Marvelous," he groused, having spent the last ten seconds coercing a locked drawer to yield to him. He returned his picking tools to the compartment in his jacket and reviewed his prize.

"Is that your watch?" asked Pyro, and Spy nodded. "What iz left of eet." He dangled it by its strap exposing the gutted silver shell before pocketing it.

Knowing that Engineer pilfered one of Spy's watches didn't surprise Pyro as much as it might have a few weeks ago. She'd never thought their gentleman Engineer would stoop to petty theft, lies and childish name calling; not to mention killing innocent women just to demoralize their husbands. She felt foolish for having assumed he was honorable merely because she'd never _seen _him lie or steal. She'd take a much more sobered approach to trusting people in the future.

As Pyro turned away again Spy began pawing his way through a tangled mess of color coded wire and stripped bolts, bent nails and a wrinkled plastic bag full of burnt fuses until his knuckles hit the end of the drawer. When he went to remove his arm something hooked onto the cusp of his glove and dragged behind his hand.

At first glance Spy assumed the rectangular device he'd been snagged on was one of Engineer's PDAs. It had a screen, a collapsible antenna, a few knobs and dials and a switch on top, but when he fingered back the curled edge of a yellowing label he realized that there was something different about this unit.

_A1S _was hand written in Engineer's structured scrawl. Spy made sure that Pyro was looking in the other direction before he flipped the silver switch on the top of the device.

The four inch screen hissed and panged to life and an electronic snowstorm fuzzed softly. He tapped one of the dials to the left and the image shuttered onto another flurry of salt and pepper. Spy extended the antenna and arranged it until he saw shadowy shapes coming through the collage of interference. After a moment of refinement the screen was clear enough that he was able to make out a far away view of someone standing at a workbench with a hoisted truck in the foreground; someone with shoulder length hair in a body suit was leaning against the other side of the vehicle looking downward at a body on the floor.

Spy waved his right arm. A second later the man on the screen, the one at the workbench, waved. He was looking at himself through a surveillance camera in the armory. His heart speedup and he grinned; if this device could tap into the camera in Engineer's warehouse, perhaps it could show him the feeds from the other cameras as well.

He turned the dial to the left again and an empty hallway snapped into view; he recognized it as the one right outside the vaulted door to the warehouse. Another twist revealed the double doors to the common area at the end of a long corridor.

Spy switched again and saw Medic leaning in his chair, his boots up on the corner of his desk. His left hand flayed a hardcover book and his right hand conducted a silent orchestra with smooth up, down, left, up movements (there were no sounds accompanying the images). Sniper relaxed on his veranda with his rifle in pieces in front of him. He cleaned each piece individually, taking care to inspect and wipe down the components with a cloth. Heavy was visiting Soldier in his dorm, and by the looks of it they were in the middle of a heated argument. Heavy stood with his arms folded and looking away like an ill-mannered child while Soldier stepped right up onto his toes and bellowed up at the taller man's face. Scout was kneeling on the kitchen counter reaching into the heights of one of the cabinets for something off-screen.

This could possibly be the most useful and mildly entertaining thing he'd ever traded his services for.

As Engineer himself had admitted, Ms. Blu would for sure have anyone who held (or crafted) this device skinned alive. For a split second Spy considered what would happen if he forfeit it to their Administrator as evidence of Engineer's treason, but then he would be throwing away the greatest advantage he ever had over the men he was paid to consider equal. It would be more beneficial to use the monitoring system for his own personal gain until it got too risky to keep, at which point he could use it as a bargaining chip just as Engineer had done.

At that thought he found himself wondering what Pyro wore when she slept, and was very happy that the means of finding out was in the palm of his hand. He switched off the device and stowed it away in his pocket and waltzed casually to his female compatriot's side.

He stood at the edge of her peripheral vision and allowed his grin to reach his ears. His heart beat a little faster; he couldn't wait to dash back to his personal quarters and—

Did this mean that Engineer had known of everything that had occurred (or not occurred, for that matter) between himself and Pyro? Is that why he was trying so hard to move in on her, because she hadn't shown any attraction to anyone yet?

Or perhaps Pyro _had _given in to someone, and Engineer figured that since he wouldn't have been the first to breech her defenses then it should be easy for him to do it, too. Pyro did say that Engineer had called her a whore; was it so hard to believe that he might have been right? He might've witnessed something on the surveillance system.

Spy needed to find out who had been able to seduce Pyro. He'd take notes on how they'd done it and concoct a way to destroy the relationship as soon as possible. But before he could do that, he had to figure out if the surveillance device recorded what it caught or if it only showed a live feed.

Spy straightened his lapel and cleared his throat. When Pyro looked at him he pretended to grin bashfully; she gave him a faux smile and turned away.

"Zhough zhere iz nozzing I would prefer more zhan ze company of a beautiful woman, I 'ave some business I must take care of. I trust you can 'andle Engineer on your own?"

Pyro tilted her head up to Spy and then back to Engineer. "Yeah, I can take it from here."

The Frenchman bowed cordially, smiled and began backing away towards the door. "Do not hesitate to call on me again. Eet iz always a _pleasure _to be of use to ze _déesse du feu_."

He kissed his palm and blew it at Pyro, who composed her fingers in the form of a gun and shot herself under the chin. The door opened and slammed shut, and Spy left Pyro to her thoughts and the sound of Engineer's patterned breathing.


	45. Spy: The Living DoubleEntendre

**UBER IMPORTANT: Have you read the last chapter _Better Than Christmas?_ I think something went weird when I posted it, and it hadn't shown up immediately. Check it out if you don't think you have!**

Thank you all for reading and I hope you enjoy how the next sections of the story unfold. I've been excited about writing this from the beginning- I hope some of the clues I slipped in early on make sense now.

Over the last month I went to a LAN party hosted by a clan whose servers I frequent. I dominated as a Heavy (only Sasha, no Natascha!), and it made me remember how much fun he is to play. It's weird how the classes I play the least (Spy, Pyro, Demoman) are the ones I write about the most. There will be more Soldier coming up soon though, more of everyone soon!

Miss Dreadd

Thanks to my good friend JP who looked over this chapter for me. Much appreciated ;)

* * *

Spy sped away from Engineer's armory like a thief with diamond-lined pockets, his soft-soled shoes padding against the smooth linoleum like a prowling cat. Once inside the confines of his personal quarters, he removed Engineer's PDA from his jacket and hit the switch, then carefully adjusted the antenna as it pinged and fuzzed to life.

Engineer was more of a fool than Spy had imagined if he thought this kind of power was worthless enough to let slip away. The Frenchman's paranoia snuck in a line of dialogue; was there something in particular that the Southerner wanted him to see?

Whether or not Engineer's plans included purposefully planted scenes didn't deter Spy. In fact, it motivated him to figure out what his machinist adversary thought he could get away with.

Spy continued turning the knobs, searching for a room that wasn't vacant. If he found evidence that anyone was lying to him or behaving curiously it might suggest that Engineer was in cahoots with the other men in order to achieve a goal he was not yet aware of.

Perhaps Engineer meant to interrogate him by proxy? It wouldn't come as a surprise to Spy that there was something Engineer wanted to know; in fact, he had fully expected Engineer to make a move long before now.

The crafty Frenchman and the studious Southerner had an intertwined history that the latter party knew nothing about. While Spy knew more about Engineer than he ever cared to know, Engineer hadn't a clue that the man partially responsible for his personal and professional failures lived on the opposite end of the base, one door down from Pyro.

Spy hoped Engineer's ignorance would prevail for his tenure with the company, though it seemed now the fog was thinning. Something had inspired Engineer to give up this device and Spy would be damned if he let that motive go unrealized, especially if it had to do with revenge. Was this PDA part of a plan for retribution? Perhaps he was trying to destroy Spy's reputation with Pyro? He jotted his ideas in the notebook he kept in his jacket and sunk into detective mode as his eyes locked on the surveillance device.

Sniper polished the scope on his assembled rifle and set it against his shoulder to check the sights. Spy watched him meticulously adjust the gun for another thirty seconds before he changed to another feed.

Soldier was alone in his quarters facing a map on the wall, his back to the view of the camera. His rigid posture, closed fists and the presence of the helmet said that this was Soldier as he had been months before. Nothing of much use would come from watching Soldier yell at an antiquated map, so Spy switched again.

Scout dropped a plate of crackers onto the kitchen floor and stepped on a few before he could stop himself. The boy's lips formed a recognizable slew of curses as he bent to sweep them back onto the plate. He set the dirty snacks onto the coffee table, dusted his hands on his pants and walked out of view of the camera. A minute later Demoman appeared, sauntering unevenly with an empty bottle tied to his hip. He noticed the unguarded platter of half-crumbled crackers and after a quick check over his shoulder to make sure the coast was clear he shoveled a handful into his mouth.

Demoman smacked his lips together and looked curiously at the empty plate. He spat and picked something off his tongue, then left the common room through the opposite door. Where was their explosives expert headed to, if not back to his personal quarters?

The Scotsman trudged into the adjacent hall and turned left at the next intersection where Spy was able to follow him with the surveillance system. He passed the corridor that lead to the lockers and showers; Demo was headed to Engineer's armory.

What business Demoman thought he had with Engineer Spy did not know, but he couldn't let Pyro be caught. The little forethought Demo gave to things was washed away with every ounce of liquor and since it was a little past noon, Spy fully expected the Scotsman's blood-alcohol ratio to be three shots short of flammable. In his drunken logic he'd assume that Engineer had done something stupid to bring Pyro's fury upon himself, and although this was perfectly true, Demo's involvement would only serve as an additional complication.

The PDA was back in Spy's jacket before he could fully collapse the antenna. He spanned the path from his room to the common area junction with speed to rival his youngest associate. Though he'd seen it for himself on camera, he noted the plate of crumbs on the coffee table as he strode across the kitchen to the swinging doors affront him. He bounded down the adjoining hall and only slowed a hair as he tucked into a tight left turn and raced to catch up with Demoman.

Spy reached the corridor before his inebriated associate was halfway down the hall to Engineer's vault. Spy tapped his watch and vanished; he bent his knees and leveled his breaths into consistent, silent lungfuls.

When he got near, Spy thrust his toe over the ball of Demo's boot and the Scotsman fell with the elegance of a Great Dane on roller-skates. Despite his impaired reaction time, Demo caught himself from landing a face full of tile and slurred his favorite four-letter words at the top of his lungs.

"Quite balletic." Spy deactivated his watch and moved in nonchalantly, offering a helping hand. Demoman glared disapprovingly as he staggered to his feet and whacked the fine layer of grey dust off his pants. He had other things taking up his mind and didn't think to ask Spy what he had been doing following so close.

"Eef you are looking for ze Laborer, e' iz bringing 'is uniforms to ze laundry service," Spy fabricated.

"Good fur 'im," Demo grunted and turned toward the vault. "Jus' need ta git in thaur fer a sec."

"Are you deaf? Engineer iz not 'ere," Spy reiterated irritably. He needed to get Demo away in the event Pyro decided to make an exit.

"I 'eard ya!" snapped Demoman, "I ain't lookin' fer Engie, ai'm lookin' ta git in 'is warehouse."

"And why would you need to do zat?"

Demo balked. "Ain't none o'yer business."

"What you do wiz your own time iz your own business, but when you terrorize ze 'ole base wiz your drunken mischief eet concerns everyone," Spy stared down Demoman with ice in his eyes.

"Yea? 'Oo died n' made ya th' Admin, eh? I'll tear yer goddamn guts out," Demoman nudged Spy in the chest with his fingertips.

The Frenchman sneered. "From zhis position I could kill you seven different ways. _Do not provoke me."_

The brow above Demo's eye socket twitched as he planted himself at his antagonist's toes. "You're a back pokin' snake, an' by God you'll die like one."

"Civilized conversation never waz your strong point."

"N' you were never good at nothin' 'sides bein' an alley-skulkin' backstabber!"

This was good; if Spy could incite Demo to attack him it would give him sufficient reason to subdue and remove him. A grin crawled over Spy's face and his heart steadied into cold steel. What he said next punctured Demoman's already frail emotional predicament, and shook him to the brink of madness. "_Eef _y_our wife weren't packed into a vase she would say ozzerwise."_

The Scotsman's expression transposed from flabbergasted gawking into hysterical confusion. As Spy's words sunk in he broke out into a sweat; his heart palpitated and his short, quick breaths matched the rate of his trembling hands.

Demo shouted with tears in his eye, "Wha th' _fuck_ does that mean?"

"Exactly what I—"

"How th' 'ell da you know anythin' 'bout my wife, ya gutless piece o' shit!" Demoman shuddered and bit down hard on his lip. His weakened sense of self-preservation dissolved in the acid surging through his veins. Spy kept his mouth shut while the man he'd riled leaned anxiously from foot to foot.

"I can't—I can't fuckin' do this—" Demo whipped around and tried to forget Spy and his wife and the pain gnawing at him from the inside. He raced to the vault to forget his suffering the only way he knew how.

Spy cursed. Demo was supposed to attack him, not run to the armory with more fervor than before.

"Waz zhere enough left of 'er to tell 'oo she was? Or did zhey 'ave to resort to dental records?" Spy saw a noticeable drop in Demo's stature but he continued to the warehouse. Time was running out.

"I would 'ave loved to 'ave seen her one last time; too bad you made sure ze funeral couldn't 'ave been an open casket."

The world fell from below Demo's tattered black boots. His vision blurred with rage and heard only clips and phrases over the torrent of noise in his head. His hands were gripped around Spy's neck before he realized that he'd even turned around.

Spy's taunt was too specific and incriminating for Demo to assume it had merely been a lucky assumption. Pessimistic by nature Demoman surmised the worst, and it just so happened that the worst of Demoman's theories involving Spy were centralized around the obscure possibility of a connection between the Frenchman and his late wife's disloyalty.

Something irked Demo from the first time he'd made eye contact with Spy. There was a familiarity, a look of comprehension that gave Demoman the feeling that although he'd never seen this man, this man had been expecting his arrival.

_I would have loved to have seen her one last time; _the words rolled around in the guilty widower's head as he pummeled the man who declared that he'd met his wife. Demoman understood Spy's roundabout statement as admitting he'd _slept_ with her; the way he'd said it made him want to smash his teeth in.

Demoman ran his fist into Spy's kidney and maneuvered his free hand around the neck of the jug latched to his belt. Spy used a knee and elbow to force Demo away, which gave the Scotsman enough time to unlatch his bottle. Spy tapped his wrist and faded away.

Demo grunted and caught his breath. He twisted around and swung his flagon at chest height. "Git out 'ere, yuh cowardly piece 'o sh—"

Spy's knife slid into Demoman's lower back like butter. Demo thrashed and landed his fist twice into his invisible foe and latched on, squeezing the man who was stabbing him again and again, leaving trails of wet hot liquid soaking into his clothes.

The voice whispering to Demoman sounded static like speech through an old radio. The muscles in his back went numb as his whole body grew empty and chilled. Spy twisted away and Demo felt the world flip; his head slammed into something solid and his brain sloshed against his skull. All that had been dark went blindingly white, and then everything stopped.


	46. Sex, Lies and Madness

**It's been a while, but fear not; I haven't yet succumbed to the true death. I'm excited for the next chapters of DSoB; I'll be wrapping up the whole story within the next 10 or so chapters. **

**I have to say, writing this fanfiction has helped me become a better writer. This is the longest piece of anything that I've ever written, and I am filled with candy and sugar that you all enjoy to read it ;)**

**Some day, once DSoB is completed, I'm going to go over it and edit the earlier chapters. There are few events that I'd been dying to rewrite and others that need tweaking, but alas, this will not be for a few months at least. I'm going to have a lot of time on my hands soon, and I do hope that those who enjoy the world I've created will come back for the future of DSoB.**

**50 years into the future, where will BLU be?**

* * *

Pyro tilted her head and strained to listen, but the distant yell she thought she might've imagined was drowned out by the hum of a machine in Engineer's warehouse. She returned her attention to digging out grime from below her fingernails with the two-inch screw she found on the armory floor.

For the past month Pyro felt like her life had been turned inside out. She missed her enigmatic alias as the muffled fire guy that was on everyone's good side. Her confidence and familiar identity had been relinquished with her unveiling, and she found herself in unrest trying to transform into the person she thought everyone was expecting her to be.

It was frustrating to pretend to be someone else, and while she knew that acting more feminine started with wearing a dress, her most recent dress-up experience left a lingering blood flavor. The screw slipped and cut into the soft flesh below Pyro's fingernail. She stuck her finger into her mouth and bit down, savoring the sobering pain and appreciating the irony of the moment.

The whole situation was causing her grief. More than anything she wanted to depart her distress through the mouth of her flamethrower onto the back of some unlucky RED. She felt sick with misery, like she hadn't been herself in ages.

Pyro slithered her hand into her pocket and extracted the bundle of fabric she found there. She shook the wrinkles out of her mask, checked it for holes and then slipped it over her head.

The effect was instant. She felt her shoulders shrug and a piece of her burden escaped in a sigh. All of the therapy and good words in the world couldn't have made her feel as secure as the black meshed cloth enshrouding her face.

All the while Pyro's harrow melted away, Engineer's brain was churning. Now that he knew Pyro felt for him, he had to make up for his reproach and begin turning her against Spy. Apologizing was never his forte but he did have some common sense; he figured that if he groveled she would find it pitiful. Instead, he would apologize straight faced and let a sliver of remorse shine through. He knew he had to appear contrite while keeping his pride, and in turn, Pyro's respect.

Engineer blinked his eyes open and breathed a bit faster to accredit the façade that he'd just woken up. It was strange to see the vibrant, colorful world usually muted by his goggles. He made sure to wince and groan quietly.

"Welcome back," he heard Pyro say. Engineer's head was propped up enough that he only had to strain slightly to get her in his view. He did a double-take when his eyes fell upon Pyro, now masked with a few short strands of hair distending from the nape of her black veneer. He was grateful she'd put it on, but was immediately ashamed that he felt that way.

"I never wanted to control you," he began, setting his head down flat and looking into the florescent lights in the rafters. "I'm not sure what came over me to make me say those things to someone I trust with my life. It might'a been stress n' my bein' just plain ol' thick-skulled, but that ain't no excuse." Engineer gingerly lifted himself into a sitting position and rubbed his fingers into his eyes. He blinked away the black spots and groped around for his eye protection. Pyro stuck out her foot and kicked the goggles across the floor to him.

"Much obliged." Engineer gave his gear a quick polish with his shirt, stretched them over his head and adjusted the straps so they fit snug. "I don't expect any sort of forgiveness—"

"Why would you give me something that you gave to your victims as some sort of calling card?" Pyro asked calmly, taking Engineer by surprise.

"Honestly, I hadn't thought a thing of it—"

"It's not like I don't understand killing for the sake of— well, necessity, but it hardly seems that what you did was something that innocent people deserved, irregardless of who they were married to," Pyro scowled behind her mask.

"I think you mean 'regardless.' 'Irregardless' isn't a—"

"Don't be a grammar Na—don't act like Medic. I just want to understand why you did what you did."

"Pyro, I swear on my mother's grave that I hadn't even begun to make the connection that the gift I was giving you might somehow resemble a part of my past that I think and grieve on every day of my waking life," Engineer stated with sincerity with his right hand over his heart. He hadn't planned for an excursion into the darkest days of his life leading up to his recruitment, but if it would satisfy Pyro, then avoiding the topic was not an option.

Engineer adjusted his goggles again and stretched out his knuckles. He removed the glove from his right hand and set it on his knee and, then massaged the back of his stiffened (but not broken) neck. "What do you wanna know?"

Pyro took her time to elect a question. There were a lot of things she wanted to know about Engineer, but as she traced them in her mind she found that they all lead to the same beginning. She could wind her way through his life and discover his intentions by starting with one simple question; "Did you have a choice to join the field team? Did you sign up willingly?"

"No," said the Southerner, blindsided by her seemingly random inquisition. "I wasn't fortunate enough to have that luxury. And it's not as if this is the sorta job that gets posted in the wanted section," he risked a smile. "No one that was hired applied for this position."

Pyro chewed her lip. Was it merely a coincidence that Engineer too had been forced onto the BLU field team? Spy never explained how Engineer came to be employed, but it was possible that he didn't know. All of these things were supposed to be kept secret, but with cohorts like Spy treating secrecy like gossip it wouldn't be a surprise to Pyro that _everyone _knew where Engineer came from. "I may be way off here, but did your flowers have anything to do with why you had to join BLU?"

The silence that wrapped both Engineer and Pyro hung in the air like lusterless vapor. Disclosure of any personal information pertaining to BLU, its pseudonyms or anything that may potentially shed light on the inner workings of the company was strictly prohibited, and despite the base's insinuated isolation Engineer knew first hand that the eyes and ears of the Builder's League and their Administrator were almost inescapable.

That, and Spy had a portable receiver to the surveillance system. If they were to divulge their histories to each other they'd have to be somewhere the cameras were not.

Engineer pressed his index finger to his lips and nodded at the door to his office. Pyro grimaced, confused until she realized what he'd meant. She stood from her bucket seat and assisted Engineer upright then followed him through the only wooden door in the warehouse.

Pyro was overwhelmed the moment she stepped over the door jam. Escaping from the soulless walls of concrete that epitomized ninety percent of the base (including the common area), Engineer furnished his smallest room with warm wooden textures and artificial inset windows beset with illuminated backdrops of sunny pastures below spirited blue skies.

Beige and blue floral wallpaper plastered the walls, giving the scrubbed wooden floor a sandy glow. Stained shelves hung evenly on each wall with little trinkets set neatly on display. Engineer had covered the ceiling with white painted wood, and wired up a three-armed fan that whooshed as it spun, providing the room with a comfortable breeze.

Pyro felt like she'd teleported from the subterranean BLU base to a farmhouse in the American Midwest. Though the décor wasn't quite her taste, she found herself thinking that if Engineer took a hand to her quarters or even the entire base she wouldn't have a problem with it. Anything would be a refreshing change from the grey walls with their strict cobalt striping, and she wouldn't be perturbed if the mismatched dilapidated common room furniture spontaneously burst into flame.

Engineer gestured to a rickety looking chair on the guest's side of his desk, and sat down after Pyro took her seat. "So. What do you want to know?"

"You were forced to join BLU?" asked Pyro, picking up the conversation without delay. Engineer tucked his mouth into a thin line as he thought about how to answer. He couldn't think of a way this information could be used against him, so he dove in, and felt cleaner with every word of his confession.

"I started up with the Builder's League in the mid fifties as a well technician in the Eastern Texas oil fields. Didn' know all the different companies in the area were actually aliases of BLU, so I imagine no matter where I applied I would'a ended up in the same predicament."

"I was with Goldstream Fuel for about two years when I was promoted to Foreman and given my own well to look after. A year after that, I was the only man stationed at my well, and I hardly had to work. I built machines to monitor it for me so the only time I had to visit was when the mechanism notified me that something went wrong."

"As time went on my machines replaced more men as I was given additional wells. I had a team of ten workers at my disposal, a company car, a lady at my side and more money than she or I could spend," Engineer smiled sadly.

He focused on the ceiling fan while he collected his thoughts. When he started again his sentences were short, and it seemed to be painful for him to speak. "Life got stale. I had everythin' I needed. Had a little one on the way. I was wealthy with money and companionship, but I wasn't fulfilled. I was eager to do something worthwhile, but I didn't know what."

"One day my monitoring system denoted the complete destruction of an entire well. I had no idea that that morning would be the last time I walked into work without a shadow on my shoulder, guilt in my stomach and a crazy sort of satisfaction that I'd crave for the rest of my life."

"It was blown to pieces, the whole thing. I looked over the security recordings an' found a group a' uniformed individuals planting explosives around the site. Couldn't see any discerning characteristics, but I made sure that if n' when it happened again, my cameras would catch it. I put my sweat and blood into those machines an' they were tryin' to destroy 'em. I was determined to hunt 'em down personally."

"And you found out it was RED," Pyro interrupted. She took Spy's words for true and assumed the next part of his story. "How did you kill that first guy and find his family?"

Engineer's brow furrowed. "Killed? I hadn't harmed a soul at that point. I didn't even know who the responsible parties were until—"

"—You caught them in the act, killed one of them and he had a letter on him, I thought."

The Southerner held his face in a knot. "That wasn't how it happened at all."

"That's what Spy told me," Pyro spat factually with more spite in her voice than she'd meant. She was mad that Engineer was telling her conflicting information to what Spy told her, and resentful that Spy had probably lied to her _again_. She'd have to pick apart the two stories to figure out what actually happened. As Engineer went on, Pyro learned that what really happened was much more intriguing and mysterious than the vague outline she'd established with Spy's half-truths.

"The whole situation was sticky from the start and I was as frustrated as Scout during a spelling bee." Engineer's attempt at comic relief went overlooked by Pyro, who kept silent and waited for him to continue.

"I thought I'd caught a lucky break when I was contacted by a man who claimed to be an informant for an organization that was trying to apprehend the same mercenaries that had attacked my wells. He said the men we were both looking for were responsible for acts of terrorism that made Al Capone look like Mother Theresa," Engineer grinned skeptically.

"I asked him what it'd cost me, and he said it wouldn't cost a dime. I didn't pay him one penny for all of what he gave me. I got names, addresses, spouses' names, every bit of information he could find," Engineer counted on his fingers. "No monetary exchanges. I thought it strange at first, but I was too eager to find out the who and why about the men in red that I soon forgot about the informant who dropped into my life and disappeared just as quickly."

"He never told you who he worked for?" asked Pyro.

"Nope. Not a-once."

"What did he look like?"

Engineer kept his poker face. He knew exactly what his informant looked like, how tall he was and his favorite brand of cigarette, but for the sake of Pyro's safety and sanity, he knew she couldn't know. "Couldn't tell ya. Only ever heard his voice. He hid the intelligence at a place of his choosing n' told me where'da find it."

"So what then? What did you do with the stuff he gave you?"

It took twenty minutes for Engineer to tell Pyro about the part of his life that he'd only ever shared with BLU and the bottom of a bottle of grain alcohol. Pyro came to realize that the majority of Spy's brief and unspecific story was filled with holes. She had no proof whether or not Spy had skewed the facts on purpose, but decided she couldn't trust him either way.

Spy had omitted the fact that Engineer had the help of an informant to track down the RED's family members (she recalled thinking it was farfetched for Engineer to have found them on his own). He'd also fabricated the part where Engineer found a letter on one of the REDs that lead him to find his identity, and about his use of a sentry gun to take care of his victims.

The most attention-grabbing event that Spy failed to mention was one that made Pyro realize the folly of her rash decision to abandon faith in Engineer. She presumed Engineer had been killing for pleasure and punishment, and not because he'd been motivated by revenge and a savage interpretation of due process.

"They found my family before I found theirs," said the Southerner, looking through his team mate like she were glass. Pyro recalled when Demoman told her she had the 'Thousand-Mile stare,' and wondered if Engineer's current expression was what he was talking about.

Pyro could see the gears in his head churn and felt the air in the room go cold. She saw Engineer like she never had before, like a primeval monster in a human guise. His mind had been rubbed raw by reliving the death of his family and the disintegration of the life he'd built for himself.

When Engineer spoke again his voice sounded cruel and powerful, a low rumble that struck a chord in Pyro's chest and made her bite her lip and grin. Retribution, even when it was someone else's, was sweet.

"It was easy to convince their wives to court me, and even easier to dispose of them. I made each of them hairclips with little red flowers made of thin metal. At the center of each flower I concealed small explosives which I configured to detonate when the pin was removed from the clip."

"I was long gone by the time they got home and let their hair down. But I couldn't let it end there, not when those RED cowards took from me what was about to be my family. I emptied their civilian bank accounts and their children's college funds. The informant helped me launder the money and transfer it to an account under an alias of mine, which as far as I know, hasn't been found by BLU."

So Engineer had money. Pyro stored this piece of potentially useful information in the back of her mind. There was still one very important event that Engineer hadn't yet gone over, and as if he read her mind he made known to her what she had been most curious to learn.

"I got pulled over about a week later on interstate thirty-five for speeding. When the officer got a good look at me, he read me my Miranda rights and I was arrested on the spot. Apparently there was a warrant out for my arrest for voluntary manslaughter, aggravated assault, burglary, extortion, tax evasion, harassment, racketeering—"

Pyro's head tilted to one side and she frowned. "How did the civi's figure out it was you?"

"The civilian police had no idea what I'd done! It was BLU behind it all, directing the civilian and government taskforces to find me. I know because when they brought me to the station I was only in jail for a little more than an hour before an unmarked armored van picked me up, and that's when I first met Ms. Blu."

"She gave me an ultimatum, and it was this: "Work for me for the rest of your life, or I'll give you to the men whose wives you blew up.""


End file.
